


Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

by Agasthiya



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Ghost stories references, Grand Prix Final Banquet, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M, Magical Realism, Mutual Pining, Parallel Universes mentions, Protective Katsuki Yuuri, Protective Victor Nikiforov, Road Trip, Slow Dancing, They're alone in the world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23249227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agasthiya/pseuds/Agasthiya
Summary: As the Grand Prix Final banquet draws to a close, Viktor witnesses a sudden and terrifying event: everyone in the world has mysteriously disappeared. Everyone... except for Yuuri Katsuki, the drunk man he's danced with all evening and who has been fully occupying his mind.Feeling scared and lost and seeking comfort in each other's presence, the two of them promise to stay together no matter what, and thus begins a journey to find out what happened to the rest of the world... through which they may also find in each other something they never knew they were looking for.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 138
Kudos: 184





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello <3
> 
> I'm back with a new-but-not-completely-new fic, since I started writing it a long time ago. But I wanted to finish it beforehand, and was sort of waiting for the right time to post it. Only the final chapter remains unfinished as of now, and I will do my best to perfect it and update regularly. This fic and its themes are very dear to my heart and I hope it will convey all the undying love I have for this show <3
> 
> Huge thanks to Jenny, Basia, Raiza, Hegel and so many others who let me ramble about this story and gave me unvaluable advice and support throughout this long process <3 You're all incredible.
> 
> Hope you will enjoy it!!
> 
> [my Tumblr](https://piecesofbrokenrecollections.tumblr.com)

Viktor brings the flute glass to his lips, closing his eyes as he immerses himself in the silence of the balcony, away from the bustle of the closing banquet.

Over the years, he has developed the habit of sneaking off these events. It's a routine he knows by heart. He distributes smiles and handshakes to sponsors and skaters he barely knows, he politely accepts praises with a thank you and ignores the envious glares that seem to say ‘When is he going to retire? There’s no suspense anymore at this point’, more persistent after each victory. He eats, drinks, pretends not to be bored while waiting for the ideal time to slip away unnoticed.

Tonight, however, the call of solitude manifested much later than it usually does.

When Yuuri Katsuki left the dining room, in fact. As soon as he was gone, all the magic that he insufflated into the boring, predictable banquet vanished with him. There was no point in staying any longer.

Viktor smiles against the rim of his glass before putting it down on the balustrade, his gaze wandering across the snowy horizon as he loses himself in the memories of the evening. Yuuri’s drunken, tender smile and his warm hand in Viktor’s while they danced a tango. His body, previously undulating around a pole, pressed against Viktor’s and his strong arms clinging onto his neck. His enthralled expression lighting a spark in his brown eyes, so sad and lost one hour before, as he begged Viktor. _Be my coach, Viktor!_

Viktor unconsciously wraps his arms around himself as if to preserve Yuuri’s warmth. He can’t remember the last time anyone hugged him like that. With all that champagne in his system and those successive dance-offs, it’s a miracle Yuuri managed to stay on his feet for so long. Still, Viktor wishes they could have spent more time together. Share the view and petits fours stolen from the buffet and get to know each other, hidden from public view. Maybe tomorrow, before he has to leave for the airport. He would be ready to pull an all-nighter just to be sure to catch Yuuri at breakfast. A short moment is better than nothing, and may be enough to exchange phone numbers.

Viktor sighs, exhaling a small puff of air. He doesn't recognise himself. Tonight was his first time actually, properly interacting with Yuuri, and he already can't stop thinking about him. The silence feels heavy all of a sudden. There’s not even a single car noise in the distance. Viktor leans over the balustrade, expecting to see down below people braving the cold to have a chat or a smoke in front of the hotel’s main entrance.

Nobody.

How long has he been standing here? Longer than he thought he would, certainly. Yuuri must be safe in his room by now. Just to be sure, with no ulterior motive, he opens his conversation thread with Christophe and types a quick text.

_Is Yuuri okay?_

He presses “send”, bracing himself for the inevitable salacious insinuations regarding his blatant crush. He suspects this is why Chris was so quick to volunteer to bring Yuuri back to his room. Just to annoy Viktor. Granted, Chris has known Yuuri longer and, unlike Viktor, he knew the room number. Still, it was impossible to misinterpret the shit-eating grin Chris had sent his way.

The text disappears before it goes through. Viktor frowns, retypes it and hits “send” again.

And again.

“Oh, come on,” Viktor mutters. Every time, the text seems to delete itself, yet not once does he get a ‘Not delivered’ alert.

It might just be his phone acting up, though he’s never had that kind of issue before. Maybe it’s coming from Chris’s phone? He scrolls through his messages, searching for someone to text as a test. Yakov? Georgi? Mila? His hairdresser Andrei? He has many contacts, but very few he actually talks to. He eventually picks his dog-sitter Anna. She is used to being pestered for real-time info about Makkachin and she always replies within minutes even at ungodly hours.

_Everything going well?_

The text disappears, confirming the issue isn’t coming from Chris’s phone.

Now that’s really weird. After thinking for a minute, he opens Google. Surely he isn’t the only one who has encountered such a problem, he'll find a solution online… But the app freezes as soon as he touches it and he’s left with a bright, blank page glaring at him without even doing the courtesy of showing an error message. He gets the same result with every other app.

Then he notices something strange: beside the time and the battery level, there is nothing on the top screen. No carrier name, no signal alert, like his phone is stuck on airplane mode – except that airplane mode is definitely not on. He enables and disables it nonetheless, hoping it will set something off. He restarts the phone. Nothing changes.

Signal is purely and simply gone.

A sense of unease washes over him. Which is absurd. Phones crash all the time, it’s probably nothing serious. Besides, he’ll be back to Saint Petersburg tomorrow. If it doesn’t get better until then, he’ll bring it to a phone service center, it’s that simple. It's not like he urgently needs his phone right now.

He blames his shaky fingers and his heartbeat speeding up on the cold and shoves the phone back into his suit’s pocket. He's getting tired of being alone, even though the only person he wants to see has probably fallen into a drunken slumber by now. He finishes off his champagne in one gulp and walks back inside, dawdling through the hallways and down the stairs.

He puts on his mask of proud and social Grand Prix Final gold medalist as he pushes the heavy banquet room door open… and freezes.

The large tables covered with white cloth, the service platters, the mess of glasses and champagne bottles… Everything is as it was when he left, with one notable, worrying difference.

The room is empty. The guests, the sponsors, the waiters… not a single soul around.

Viktor’s shocked laugh echoes in the thick silence. He takes a few cautious steps, his head slowly moving from side to side as though he expects people to spring up from under the tables like a surprise party. Well, a surprise party with all the lights on and a half-consumed buffet.

“Come on, it’s not that late. Was the party really that boring without me around?”

He continues smiling and joking into the void, not dropping the mask. He’s worn it for so long, he never learned how to remove it completely. Yet he can’t shake off this terrible, chilling sensation seeping into his bones.

Hard to believe all his fellow skaters have collectively decided to go to some random bar in Sochi, or back into their rooms all at the same time. And that the employees have collectively decided to take their leave right in the middle of such an important event. Even if they had, Viktor would’ve come across at least one of them on his way back.

So… Where is everyone?

While there is still no apparent signal, a visceral need to hear a familiar voice pushes Viktor to dial the first number his thumbs find in his contact list, namely Yakov’s. Never mind if he gets yelled at. A part of him hopes he will.

There’s no grumbled “What do you want Vitya, evening’s over for me”, nor Yakov’s annoying default voicemail alert. No typical, omnipresent humming noise on the line, and no beeps indicating the call couldn't get through. Only utter silence.

Viktor gets the same type of response when he dials emergency numbers, and only then does he fully realise the gravity of the situation. If even calls to emergency services that don't depend on signal don't get through, none will. Taken over by a strange frenzy, he starts calling everyone in his contact list, then dials random numbers in the hope that someone, anyone will reply to his increasingly desperate missives. 

“Okay, that’s not funny anymore. Hello? Anyone here?”

Almost on their own volition, his wobbly legs carry him out to the kitchens. Then the bathrooms. He inspects every corner, even the most improbable ones like inside the fridges and under the sinks. In the suite area, he knocks at Yakov’s door, Chris’s, and after failing to remember Mila’s room number and trying several doors at random, he ends up banging on every door on his path, bouncing from one side of the hallway to the other like a pinball. First floor, second floor… The dimly lit hallways that seem to be stretching out forever only aggravate the feeling of having been projected into one of his old horror novels.

An eternity later, drained from distress and from running everywhere, he lets himself slide down the wall in the middle of the hallway after one last weak knock. He has no idea which floor he’s on. He holds back some helpless tears and focuses on his breathing, his head resting on his knees.

“Calm down. You’re fine. You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine. There has to be an explanation…”

The sound of footsteps behind the door he last knocked at make him stand up so fast he stumbles. “Hello!” he practically shouts. “Is anybody in there? Please open up!”

More footsteps, coming closer. Viktor’s heart bursts in relief. He could leap for joy. He is not alone. He is not alone!

The door slowly creaks open, revealing the dishevelled silhouette and the brown, drunkenly confused eyes of Yuuri Katsuki.

***

“Yu–”

“Shh,” Yuuri whispers, his finger on his lips. He frantically gestures for Viktor to come inside, and Viktor complies without thinking twice. “Thought it was Chris.” With a giggle, he closes the door behind them. “We’re having a secret party.”

“A… secret party?”

“Shh!” Yuuri giggles again. “Not so loud! D’you wanna stay?”

It sounds more like a plea than a suggestion. Unsteady on his feet, Yuuri takes Viktor by the wrist and drags him to the middle of the room, keeping on talking.

“You're looking for Chris? He went downstairs. To steal food. Hope he gets me beetroot pie…”

“Uh… Not exactly. And… I don’t think the buffet has beetroot pie.”

“No beetroot pie?” Yuuri’s face falls, his mouth forming an adorable disappointed pout. “That suck. Sucks? Yeah, sucks. No beetroot pie,” he mumbles, shaking his head like he’s never heard anything so absurd, the tie that is still looped around his head flapping in the air with the movement. He steps closer, peering at Viktor’s face. “You look sad. Why are you sad? Was someone mean to you?” He knits his eyebrows. “Give me a name and I’ll fight them.”

Viktor chokes out a laugh. Somehow, Yuuri giving a piece of his mind to people denigrating him, with his loud voice and his makeshift warrior headband, is a very easy scene to picture.

“No, no. No one said anything to me.” Quite literally.

“You. The best.” Yuuri taps the center of Viktor’s chest with his finger after each sentence to reinforce his point. “Most beautiful skater, most beautiful man. In the whole world. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.” He slides his hand under Viktor’s lapel to rest his palm over his heart. “Viktor should always be happy,” he mutters to himself.

Maybe Yuuri is too drunk to feel Viktor’s heart drumming against his palm; in any case, he makes no mention of it. Viktor takes Yuuri’s hand, gentle, and holds it a few seconds against his chest before dropping it. “I’m not sad, Yuuri. Just a bit… shaken.”

It’s an understatement, yet it’s enough for Yuuri’s eyes to get wider behind his smudged glasses.

“I don’t know how to tell you this… I think we have a problem. A huge problem.”

Yuuri steps back and slumps on the couch in front of the large window, patting the spot next to him in invitation with what he probably believes to be a firm expression, undermined by his heavy eyelids.

Viktor sits at the furthest spot on purpose and Yuuri, having none of it, shifts swiftly and presses his thigh against Viktor’s, lightly stroking his arm. The gesture is soothing and Viktor, in need of comfort, goes along with it.

“Yuuri, when did you see Chris for the last time?”

“Hmmm… Don’t remember. ’S been gone for a long time now…” Yuuri’s fingers pause on Viktor’s bicep. “Ooooh. I see. He didn’t want to stay. Didn’t want to party with Number Six. Food was just an excuse.”

Viktor’s heart twinges. Number Six. Clearly, the emotional stage of drinking is taking over. “No, not at all. Chris likes and admires you a lot. He told me so.”

Yuuri gives a disbelieving nod. Yet it’s the plain truth. As soon as Yuuri appeared with his coach’s arm around his slumped shoulders, he became their main conversation topic. He didn’t get the chance to know about it though, because by the time they agreed on offering him to join them, he’d already downed his sixteenth glass.

“This is very important. Do you remember seeing him leave?”

“Mhh…” Yuuri tilts his head, his hair brushing up against Viktor’s shoulder as he does. “I was in the bathroom. I think.”

Viktor sighs. He might as well go straight to the point. “Yuuri, Chris disappeared. No, not just Chris. Everyone. There’s no one left in the hotel, and believe me, I checked everywhere I could.”

He recounts how there wasn’t a single car on the road, which is definitely abnormal at this hour. How he tried to reach out to everyone he could think of, both in Saint Petersburg and overseas, which led him to the conclusion that the phenomenon is not restricted to the hotel, nor the city, nor the country, but is happening worldwide.

Yuuri stares at him, his expression serious as if Viktor’s speech has sobered him up, even though the flush on his cheeks lingers.

“So… You’re saying… We’re the only two people left in the world.”

“It sounds unbelievable, but… I think so.”

Yuuri nods to himself longer than necessary, then, when Viktor least expects it, snorts and dissolves into giggles again, unsuccessfully stifling them into Viktor’s shoulder, his arm limply resting over his chest.

Well. Definitely not sobered up, Viktor thinks, warmth spreading across his face and neck.

“Yuuri… Did you understand what I said…?” Viktor asks, hesitant yet patient.

“Yessss. Viktor and I, alone in the world. ‘mazing. Sounds like a dream I had years ago,” Yuuri mumbles, his slurred voice hot against the fabric of Viktor’s suit. He says something else in Japanese, his voice getting quieter and quieter and eventually melting into a light snore.

Viktor’s whole body goes stiff, not daring to put a finger on the beautiful, sleeping, dead drunk man draped over him. “Yuuri…?” If he turned his head a few millimeters to the left, his cheek would touch Yuuri’s forehead. A bit louder, he calls again, “Yuuuuri…?”

Yuuri jolts awake, his glasses lopsided and his arms still circling Viktor’s shoulders, disoriented until he sees Viktor, and tenderness blooms on his lips.

No one has ever looked at him like that.

Viktor smiles back, his throat tight. “It’s okay. Forget it. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?”

It would be pointless to insist. Yuuri is in no condition to listen and be receptive to the extent of the problem. It can wait until he gets some rest and has sobered up.

Upon hearing the word ‘tomorrow’, Yuuri buries his face in Viktor’s neck with a groan and holds on for dear life like a limpet to a rock. Viktor slides an arm under Yuuri’s knees, securing him before getting up and carrying him to the bed. He doesn’t have too much difficulty laying him down on the mattress: Yuuri’s grip loosens and his arms slide down Viktor’s back, as though liquefied by fatigue and alcohol. Viktor removes the tie from his head, puts his glasses on the nightstand and arranges the covers over him.

He goes to the bathroom to fill a glass with water and finds an empty bucket under the sink, probably forgotten by the cleaning service.

“It’s… you know. Just in case,” Viktor informs, putting the bucket down by Yuuri’s side.

In reply, Yuuri brushes his finger down the bridge of Viktor’s nose and boops it when he reaches the tip. The glass of water almost slides off Viktor’s suddenly clammy hand. He puts it on the nightstand.

“Such a good nose. Ten out of ten,” Yuuri says, his voice half muffled by the pillow. “D’you know what they say in Japan about long noses?”

Viktor shakes his head no, and braces himself when Yuuri gets closer, snorting as he does, to whisper in Viktor’s ear.

Viktor gulps, the words catching him off guard, as Yuuri lets out a boisterous laugh, rolling onto his back.

“You’re blushing! Your nose is all red!” Yuuri points out, eyes sparkling with mirth. “So cute…” He hugs his pillow. “Are you gonna stay?”

Viktor’s first instinct is to say no, of course. On the other hand, he trembles at the idea of walking down the cold, long hallways by himself. Going through the almost hostile silence. Lying in his bed, alone, without sleeping a wink.

Yuuri caresses the tip of Viktor’s tie and continues with a much more serious tone, as though he read his mind, “You shouldn’t be alone when you’re scared.”

Yuuri is right. His mere presence makes Viktor feel safer, and in case something happens, whatever it might be, Viktor would rather be around to protect him. Unity creates strength.

Yuuri complains when Viktor settles on the couch instead of the bed, and passes out mid-sentence. Viktor loosens his tie and takes off his suit jacket before folding it into a pillow. He lies down and closes his eyes, letting himself be lulled by Yuuri’s snores.

***

Viktor wakes up to the sound of an alarm clock with a stiff neck and a headache from lack of sleep.

Briefly confused as to why he’s lying on a couch in last night’s clothes, the memories come rushing back when he spots Yuuri in the bed, hitting snooze with a painful groan before sitting on the edge of the mattress, his back to Viktor.

Mumbling, Yuuri massages his temples then drags his still socked feet to the bathroom, without noticing the man curled up on the couch to make himself smaller and peering at him through his bangs like a wild animal through tall grass.

A few minutes later, forcing himself to ignore the sound of the shower running, Viktor draws the curtains. Daylight floods the room and shatters his secret hope that it was all a nightmare into pieces.

The city looks just as static as it did last night. The morning sky is immaculate without so much as distinguishable cloud layers, similar to a blank canvas. Still not a soul in sight, nor signal on his phone. Everything is covered by a snow mantle, much thicker than last night. There's something strange about this snow, too white and too perfect. It only heightens the impression of stillness. The only thing attesting that they aren’t completely frozen in time, at least in appearance, is the colon blinking hypnotically on Yuuri's digital radio clock. 6:43.

It doesn’t reassure Viktor in the least. The world, his world has disappeared, yet the clock keeps ticking, relentless.

He's got another problem on his hands: what is he supposed to do right now? Stay here, awkwardly waiting for Yuuri to come out of the bathroom in a robe (or worse, only a towel), droplets of hot water dripping off his body, all flushed face and wet hair? The image makes Viktor's mouth dry. It seems a little too much for him to handle, but have they become close enough for it to be the normal thing to do, especially given the circumstances? Or, on the contrary, would Yuuri be shocked to find him awake and still here? Would he find it inappropriate? Viktor feels completely out of his depth and he doesn't have much time to make up his mind, Yuuri could get out any minute.

The coward's solution would be to lie back down and pretend to still be asleep, but Viktor gets a better idea as he spots a spiral notepad next to Yuuri’s glasses. He opens it at the end, tears out the last page then writes down the current time and a quick note:

_Meet me in the dining room in half an hour_

Much as Viktor dreads stepping out of the room, it's the best compromise. It saves him the awkwardness and it gives them some time. He places the note under the glasses so that Yuuri doesn't miss it and dashes off right when the water stops running.

After he took the shower he urgently needed, brushed his teeth and changed into clean clothes, Viktor walks back in the banquet room… or rather its vestiges. Not like some student party that ended hours earlier and that everyone sneaked out of before getting trapped into helping clean up. Something classier. And colder.

He sits at the table nearest the door, pushes away the dirty cutlery in front of him, and waits.

Too long.

When they woke up, Yuuri didn't strike Viktor as particularly hungover. He didn’t throw up, and he seemed to have enough strength to take a shower. Besides, if the bucket by the bed had been used during the night, Viktor would've noticed. Now though, he's wondering if it isn't some case of delayed hangover.

He gets up from his chair… and immediately sits back down.

He can't go back to Yuuri's side to ensure he's okay, and not just because he forgot the room number. When Viktor is hungover, he can’t stand having anyone near him, holding his hair back or patting his shoulder. He’d much rather wallow in his shame in peace than have a single witness, no matter how benevolent, to the loss of his dignity. Not that Viktor is foisting his own experiences onto Yuuri, but he knows nothing about Yuuri's ways to handle hangovers. He knows so little about him, period. And the fear of doing something wrong petrifies him.

The world has disappeared, yet what scares him the most right now is what Yuuri might think of him.

An even more terrifying thought flashes into his mind. What if something much more serious than a hangover happened to Yuuri? What if he disappeared too?

Viktor should never have left him alone. Naked or not, hungover or not, given the circumstances, it was the worst thing to do. What on earth was he thinking?

“Viktor?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Viktor decide to go back to Saint Petersburg by themselves, and not everything goes as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here is the new chapter for Yuuri and Viktor's strange adventure, and I hope you will enjoy it. Definitely feel free to let me know your thoughts ♥♥

In his haste to stand up, Viktor bangs his knee against the table. Yuuri stares at him in shock, eyes ringed with exhaustion. The weight of hungover is scribbled all over his face, pale as a sheet.

At least, he didn't disappear.

Viktor rubs his aching knee with a relieved smile. “Yuuri, hi! How are you doing?”

“It was you?” Yuuri shows the piece of paper between his fingers. “You wrote this?”

Viktor gives a self-evident shrug. Joking aside, there aren’t thousands of Viktors in the hotel that could have left Yuuri a note. Then he remembers that in his hurry, he forgot to sign it.

“I don’t get it. Why? And… How did you get into my room?”

“Wait… You don’t remember last night?”

“Remember what?”

Viktor’s paleness matches Yuuri’s now. A blackout. That’s the icing on the cake. Yuuri for sure went wild last night, but to that point?

To his horror, Viktor realises how misleading his words must have sounded. “Oh– no, no, no! This is not what you think! Yes, I was in your room, but nothing happened! You were drunk, I would never…” His voice drops an octave. “Never.”

Yuuri blushes furiously, like – double horror – the implication didn’t cross his mind until now, and Viktor begs for the ground to swallow him up this instant.

“No, I didn’t–” Yuuri breaks off with a sluggish shake of the head. “Of course you would never.”

He averts Viktor's gaze, first to arrange his wrinkled jumper previously half-tucked in his jeans, then to take in the rest of the room. He blinks at the mess. Every morning, no exception, the room is spotless and the breakfast buffet ready. The abandoned food, the floor sticky from the spilled champagne, the utter absence of any living soul are so uncharacteristic of such a luxurious hotel that they’re enough to understand that there is something horribly wrong going on.

“What the… What happened? Why is nobody here?”

Viktor feels terrible for him. This must be the cruelest awakening in hangover history. He pulls back the chair opposite to the one he was sitting in a moment ago. “Please, sit down.”

***

After drinking his third glass of water in a row, Yuuri fills it with the apple juice Viktor found for him. Viktor offered coffee at first, his personal favourite hangover remedy, then found out that Yuuri doesn’t like it. A piece of information that he has already stored in his mind, in a new special folder dedicated to Yuuri Katsuki trivia.

“Feeling better?”

Yuuri pinches the bridge of his nose. “Not sure.”

“It’s not a magic cure-all, but it’ll help with dehydration. I also have some tablets in my room…”

“I’ve already taken something, thank you,” Yuuri says. “It just needs some time to work.” He stares glumly at his glass for a moment, then takes a small gulp. “I'm sorry, I can’t believe you have to see me like this…”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ve seen worse. And had worse,” Viktor admits with a smile.

“Ugh… I know I shouldn’t drink. Especially when I feel down. I do the stupidest things when I’m drunk... ” Yuuri’s eyes widen in fear. “Please tell me I didn’t make a fool of myself in front of the entire elite of figure skating.”

A mosaic of blessed images plays in Viktor’s mind. Their fellow skaters acclaiming Yuuri, his and Viktor’s perfect symbiosis… and his blithe, carefree aura. Now, only exhaustion and worry are painted on his face, making him look like a different person altogether.

The last thing he needs to hear is ‘You challenged me as well as a dozen of other skaters to a dance-off, grinded on me for all to see, begged me to coach you, called me beautiful and other things and I think I fell a tiny bit in love with you’.

“I– wasn’t around for most of the evening,” Viktor lies. “I was busy with a sponsor representative so I didn’t see much of you. Until… well. Until I found you in your room. And you were basically dead on your feet.”

Yuuri is about to ask something else, then the look in his eyes changes. He sighs and shakes his head.

“Forgive me. Even after everything you told me, all I can talk about is me." He drinks some more. "I'm not sure I understood. Can you start over?”

So Viktor recapitulates. Despite not being drunk anymore, Yuuri seems much less receptive and more skeptical than Viktor hoped he would be. Viktor doesn’t blame him: the whole story is worthy of a Twitter creepypasta. Even he wouldn’t believe it.

Yuuri attempts to provide rational explanations point by point:

“It might just be a signal issue, I got a lot of Wi-Fi problems when I first arrived…”

“Maybe it’s a generalised failure…”

“What if the hotel was evacuated for some reason, and we weren’t aware because… You were on the balcony and I was drunk and…”

Yuuri’s confidence falters with each counter-argument. He slowly reaches the state of panic Viktor was in last night, and Viktor’s heart aches at the sight.

“It's impossible,” Yuuri keeps repeating. “How can everyone disappear at once? Out of nowhere?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why are we the only ones who weren’t affected?”

“I don’t know,” Viktor repeats helplessly.

“Maybe we’re not… But we have no way to know.” Yuuri looks at his useless phone, his face ashen. “I can’t believe it. Everything that lets us communicate with the rest of the world… Phone lines, Internet… Everything's dead."

Yuuri buries his face in his hands, and Viktor isn’t sure whether he’s about to cry or if it’s in reaction to his headache, or both.

“It's a nightmare… What are we gonna do… And what about everyone… My parents… Are they even still alive…" 

Viktor is bad at dealing with people’s emotions, especially when he has nothing to say to appease them. Should he reach out for Yuuri, touch his arm or take his hand to comfort him? Would it be welcome? He has no idea. The drunk, tactile Yuuri from last night is gone, and so is their connection. They’re back to square one.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, and you didn't sleep much, so… you can go lie down if you need it,” Viktor suggests, gentle yet uncertain. “Competition’s over, you didn’t have to set your alarm so early.”

“I had to. I’m taking off in four hours and I need to finish packing up…” He slowly lifts his head, realising what he just said. “Oh no. My coach… The airport. We were supposed to leave together. And– what about you? Don’t you have a flight to take too?” 

Viktor’s mouth goes dry.

“How are we going to go home?” Yuuri insists, alarmed.

The gears in Viktor’s mind start whirring, then his face lights up. “I’ve got an idea.”

***

“Are you sure about this?”

“Nope.” Viktor points the key fob at every car they walk by on the employee-only outdoor parking lot, repeatedly pressing the unlock button in the hope of triggering the telltale beeping noise. “But I don’t see any other solution.”

“Where did you even find this key?” The touch of amusement in Yuuri’s voice gives Viktor a smooth feeling of peace and safety after all this panic.

“In one of the staff rooms.” Viktor feels compelled to add, “For the record, I’ve never done anything like this before.”

It’s the truth. In his almost twenty-seven years of life, Viktor has never stolen anything, not even a Montpensier out of his grandmother’s candy jar. Until today. Needless to say he isn’t proud of his first theft, no matter how many times he reminds himself that desperate times call for desperate measures.

“How far are we from Saint Petersburg?” Yuuri asks.

“I can’t remember exactly. Around two thousand kilometers? Ah-ha!” Viktor points triumphantly at the small red car that reacted to the key fob.

“Two thousand?!”

“It’ll be okay. I put up with worse bus trips in my teens, and cars are much faster. And more comfortable.”

“You weren’t the one driving, though.”

Viktor wipes away the mist on the window with his gloved hand and takes a peek inside. A unicorn-shaped air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror, a bobblehead dog on the dashboard, a hideous blanket spread on the backseat… Viktor would have preferred a plain, boring interior. Something impersonal enough to make him forget that they’re actually going to steal someone’s car.

They clear away the snow that has piled up on the car roof and the hood, then cram their bags and suitcases in the trunk. Viktor opens the driver’s door and is about to get in when he notices Yuuri still standing in front of the trunk, unmoving.

“What’s wrong?”

Yuuri shakes his head without answering and walks to the passenger’s door.

“Tell me,” Viktor insists once they’re both seated. “We’re going to have to trust each other. If there’s something on your mind, whatever it is, I want to hear it. Let me guess… You're scared I’m a bad driver.”

“Huh? No no no, not at all!” Yuuri exclaims, not catching the joke. “It’s just… What if we’re stuck here?”

“Sorry?”

“We don’t know what happened to the rest of the world. Maybe this is all there is left, and if we try to leave…” Yuuri gives a sour laugh. “Forget it. It’s stupid. Probably the hangover speaking.”

Disturbing images fed by his readings of poetry and fantasy novels invade Viktor’s mind. The scenery disintegrating bit by bit in their path, fading into white, and them trapped in the void forever.

“L-Let’s wait until the car is warmed up, okay? Do you want some music?”

Unsurprisingly, not even a crackle gets through when Viktor attempts to turn the radio on. The car contains a CD player, but no kind of transmitter that could let them play their own music. Who knows if it would work anyway. Yuuri opens the glove compartment and something falls out of it, right on his feet.

It’s not a CD.

It’s a road atlas of Russia.

Viktor’s eyes widen. “Oh no.”

Now it’s Yuuri’s turn to ask, “What’s wrong?”

“The GPS. Of course my app is not going to work. What was I thinking?”

“Oh. Well, that’s good we found a road map then.” Yuuri hands him the atlas with a soft, trusting smile, oblivious to Viktor’s distress. “We’ll do it the old school way.”

Viktor can feel Yuuri’s expectant gaze on him as he tries to make sense of the colourful roadmap diagrams spread across the pages. How is he supposed to plan out a two thousand kilometer-long itinerary starting from an area he’s never navigated before when he already has trouble reading a map of Saint Petersburg, his hometown?

Yuuri is counting on him though. So instead of confessing about his deplorable sense of direction, Viktor concentrates. He puts little ‘X’s over the biggest, most familiar cities, traces over the roads like he knows what he’s doing and isn’t just making a mess of a total stranger’s atlas.

“So, um… I suggest we go up here first,” he points at a city with the tip of his pen, “and then we’ll see. Hope we won’t encounter too much traffic!”

Oh God. Viktor could bang his head against the wheel. His first real day with Yuuri, probably the first of a long string, and he’s already fucking things up with terrible jokes. Much to his relief, Yuuri doesn’t pick up on it.

“Thank you again for letting me stay with you,” he says, solemn, his hands pressed between his knees. “I know we have no other choice and you don’t know me very well, so… I’m sorry to impose–”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right here. You’re not imposing at all. You really think I'd rather be alone? That I'd leave _you_ alone? It’s such a relief to have you with me, Yuuri, and I want to get to know you better. I really do. It’s my pleasure to invite you at my place, and I’m certain Makkachin will be happy to meet you as well–”

He falls silent and ponders on his own words.

He didn't think about the effect the phenomenon must have had on animals. In all logic, it must have applied to them all the same. Come to think of it, he doesn’t remember seeing or hearing so much as a bird in the white sky.

Which means.

Makkachin, his best friend, his little princess, might not be there anymore.

His vision gets dangerously blurry. No. Chase this horrible thought away. Smile. Quick.

“O-okay, I think it’s warmed up enough now. So tell me, Yuuri, have you ever been to Saint Petersburg?”

Yuuri peers at him, frowning, and Viktor recognises his worried expression from last night. Except that now that Yuuri is sober, it feels like a sharp, burning laser that can pierce right through his mind and shed a blazing light on his deepest thoughts.

“It’s my first time in Russia,” Yuuri replies, the frown not leaving his face.

“So let’s make the most of it.” Viktor’s smile broadens. “We will drive through awfully cold lands, my dear, so bundle up.”

He turns the engine on, his fingers trembling just a bit, and pulls out of the parking lot.

***

It’s past one in the afternoon when they first stop at a petrol station in the middle of nowhere, away from Sochi’s impressive urban landscapes. No hotel, no habitation, nothing within a ten kilometer radius, so Viktor can’t help but worry that the fuel dispensers won’t work or that his credit card won’t be recognised. Basic tasks that he would have completed without a blink before have become a source of stress.

He doesn’t share his concerns with Yuuri. It was his plan, it is his responsibility to fulfill it.

Like he feared, the payment terminals are inactive. Undeterred, he walks around, in search of a dispenser that isn’t automated and that they can use freely. When he finds one at the end of the station, he would totally do a little victory dance if it weren’t for Yuuri looking at him from inside the car.

Problem solved.

While it means having to add “gasoline theft” to his list of infractions, the important thing is that they won’t be stuck here. If they had been unable to refuel… Viktor shudders just thinking about it.

They fill up the fuel tank and, since their stomachs are growling and they’re tired of sitting inside that car, they decide to eat on the rest area. They carry the tupperware boxes, courtesy of the hotel kitchens, to a wooden picnic table and, after getting rid of the layer of snow covering the table and the benches, they start dipping into the buffet leftovers as they please – with their fingers, because they forgot to steal cutlery.

Not that they intended to, of course. In this case, cutlery would have been a luxury (a major one considering their worth), whereas boxes were a necessity.

Viktor can’t say he’s a fan of cold pizza, but he’s too hungry to get picky.

When he’s sated, he watches Yuuri eat with appetite. For the last fifteen hours at least, he’s had nothing but champagne and a few crackers Viktor gave him for breakfast. No wonder he’s starving. The fact that he’s regained some colour is a good sign: considering that seeing a doctor is no longer an option, their health has become more precious than ever.

“Do you want the last slice?” Yuuri’s hand shakes as he holds the piece of pizza. “We have no knife to split it up.”

“No, go for it. Are you too cold? We could have eaten in the car.”

Yuuri shakes his head no, his mouth full. After he swallowed, he replies, “I’m good. I went through four winters in Detroit, I’m thick-skinned.”

“Still. It’s very cold today. I wonder if it’s usually like this.” Viktor knows very little about this region. So much snow could be normal in this period of the year. Still, he can’t dismiss the feeling that there's something wrong. “Detroit, huh. And you said you've been there for four years?”

“I left Japan just after I graduated high school.”

Yuuri proceeds to explain that he chose Detroit to train under Celestino Cialdini, and that he does a distance learning with a Japanese university. While Viktor has questions, he listens patiently, too happy that Yuuri is sharing some precious parts of his life with him.

“That's very brave of you, moving to a foreign country so young. Coach Cialdini has trained many champions, but I barely know him in the end. What kind of coach is he?” Viktor asks innocently, hoping to ignite some memories about Yuuri’s request.

In vain.

“He’s great. He’s doing everything to support and encourage me.” Yuuri pauses. “But…”

“But?”

“I let him down.”

Viktor frowns. “He told you that?”

“Oh no, he would never. My lack of confidence is not his fault.”

Viktor isn’t sure what to say in response. Yuuri certainly didn’t lack confidence during the banquet. He has it in him, it just surfaces at specific moments. The embers are there in the hearth, red and hot, just waiting to be poked.

Viktor adds this information to his mental folder.

“I was afraid to go back,” Yuuri says. “To Detroit.”

“Why?”

“All my rinkmates streamed the event. They watched my… performance.” Viktor doesn’t miss the self-deprecating blank. “I couldn’t stop thinking about how I would face them after that. The disappointment they would try to hide from me, their pity… And… When it hit me that I wouldn’t see them tonight…” He looks down at the table. “No, forget it.”

“You can tell me anything, remember? It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Yuuri insists. “You’re gonna think I’m a horrible person.”

“Never,” Viktor says, the mere idea ridiculous to his ears.

“Really? And what if I told you that just for a split second, I was relieved?” Yuuri’s lips contort in a disgusted smile. “What kind of person can think that in such a moment?”

Viktor crosses his arms on the table and leans forward. “Given what's happening, it's only natural to have unexpected reactions. Even for a split second. That doesn’t make you a horrible person." His voice softens. "From what I’ve learned about you, I can tell you’re a person with so many emotions inside, both fragile and tough, that you don’t always know how to deal with them. Right?”

Yuuri blushes without answering. Viktor hands him a box with one mini-pie left in it. “It’s no beetroot pie, but it’s good for morale.”

Yuuri casts a confused look at him.

“Never mind.”

“Are you sure you don’t want it? You haven’t eaten very much.”

“I’ve eaten my fill, promise.”

“Then maybe I’m the one who ate too much.” He self-consciously brings the mini-pie to his mouth. “It's what I do when I’m stressed. Okay, I need to stop talking.”

Viktor doesn’t dare tell him not to feel bad about it. While it would be considered a socially acceptable response, he's got a feeling that it won't help.

Once the empty boxes are stored away and the table cleaned, Viktor stretches his arms and groans. He could do with a catnap before hitting the road again.

“Wait. Before we leave…” Yuuri points his finger at the convenience store within the station. “We’ll need more food until we make it to Saint Petersburg. They're automatic doors, do you think we can get in?”

What an excellent question. One Viktor didn’t think through, and thus a new worry joins the already high pile.

Of course the buffet food wouldn’t last them for the entire trip. What’s wrong with him? He has always been methodical, a planner who carefully weighs every possibility before making a move. Yet, since this morning, it has been a succession of failures and randomness. What Yuuri must think of him…

Viktor smiles through his unease. “There’s only one way to know.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their long journey back to Saint Petersburg continues, and softly brings them closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, I will reply to all of them as soon as possible <3 I intended to update last Saturday but last week was a difficult time for me. Hope you enjoy this new chapter!

Viktor leads the way to the store with all the confidence he currently doesn’t have.

If they can’t access this one store, they most likely won’t be able to access any other they will encounter on the road. Nor any other, period. And if that happens, how will they feed themselves? Smash the windows like vandals? With what? Stones? A wood log?

He doesn’t have to come up with another trick: as he gets closer, the automatic doors slide open, exactly like they would at this hour under normal circumstances.

“Yes!” Viktor fist pumps in victory, then wraps his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and squeezes, suddenly elated. If someone told him that one day, the opening of a convenience store’s doors would bring him such joy… “You’re brilliant! If you hadn't been here, I would've starved.”

A pink blush blooms on Yuuri’s cheeks and he breathes out a soft chuckle. “Of course not. You would’ve thought of getting food yourself.”

“Absolutely not. I would’ve gotten back to the car and only realised hours later.”

One less worry. Viktor is being humorous, but he’s not proud of himself. He’ll have to be much more careful if he wants to bring them to Saint Petersburg in one piece.

It's disturbing to enter a shop without any cashier behind the counter or customers picking up overpriced sandwiches, even in some lost rural petrol station. They could very well raid the shelves, get everything in sight and leave the way they came. In reality, they feel guilty just by limiting themselves to the bare minimum: salads, fruits, crackers… Whatever can be eaten cold. And big water bottles.

It’s like being men on the run. Or survivors in some post-apocalyptic world.

Viktor grimaces. He enjoys many subgenres of speculative fiction, but dystopia is not one of them. The collapse or end of the world has never been something he likes thinking or even joking about. Still, part of him wishes he'd read more about it just so they could've been more prepared.

“No. I’ll drive,” Yuuri says before Viktor opens the driver’s door. “You drove all morning, you need to rest.”

Viktor hesitates, both embarrassed that his fatigue shows and surprised at Yuuri’s commanding tone.

“I can drive, and I’ve totally sobered up,” Yuuri insists. “We’re in this together, it’s only fair. You’ll give me directions, and we can switch again later if you want.”

Not leaving room for protest, he gently moves Viktor aside and opens the door himself. Viktor thinks to himself that, as awkward and incompetent as he feels handling all this, it's really fortunate he has someone he can share the driver's seat with.

***

“Aah… Feels good to stop.” Viktor cracks his neck and reclines his seat. “If we keep up this pace tomorrow, we should be in Saint Petersburg by night.”

“I’m glad,” Yuuri says as he adjusts his own seat to Viktor’s level. “I’ve never broken so many road rules before.”

Viktor chuckles. Following through with their wish to lighten the mood and make the trip a fun one, they played some car games that started off as innocent. Guessing the meaning of idioms in each other’s language, twenty questions… This is how Viktor learned among other things that Yuuri’s favourite meal is katsudon, that he loves video games and that he isn’t dating anyone at the moment. He scoffed lightly and fidgeted on his seat when asked about the latter, and Viktor didn’t understand why, but he knew better than to insist. He simply said ‘Me neither’ with a big smile and asked another question.

One thing leading to another, they found themselves going over speed limits on straight rural roads, zigzagging on large highways to match the rhythm of a song they sang a cappella… In short, things they would have never done otherwise, and without the risk of endangering somebody else or getting arrested. Something about it was exhilarating. Not only did it make them forget about their worries a bit, but they also exceeded their initial kilometer goal, even if they took the wrong road three times.

Now that night has fallen, their coats are no longer enough to protect them from the cold insidiously leaking into the car, and they can’t leave it idling just to keep the heater on. Viktor contorts himself so that he can grab the blanket on the backseat and spreads it over the two of them. It smells dusty and it’s too short to cover their legs entirely, but it’s thicker and warmer than it looks. Yuuri favours Viktor with a grateful smile.

This car was definitely not conceived to sleep in, and they could have done with better pillows than folded scarves, but it’s not that bad. After all, it’s only for a few hours of rest.

“Tomorrow, we’ll get to eat something hot,” Viktor promises before turning off the interior lights.

Tomorrow. In Saint Petersburg.

He still cannot process how surreal life has become in the span of a day. At this hour, he should have been sitting on his couch at home, drinking tea while catching up on TV shows. Instead, he is lying in a stranger’s stolen car and sharing a blanket with Yuuri Katsuki.

Viktor can’t tell how much time passes. Twenty minutes? An hour? In any case, sleep doesn’t come. When it happens, he opens a book and reads until his eyelids get too heavy to follow the lines. He has one in his bag, but he doesn’t want to disturb Yuuri. He’s sleeping so peacefully, without so much as a snore.

Or… Is he?

Viktor frowns. It would be pretentious, not to say flat-out false, to claim he has become an expert in Yuuri’s sleeping habits when they’ve only slept in the same room once. Besides, some people tend to snore only when they’re drunk.

To clear up doubt, he whispers tentatively, “Yuuri…?”

“Yes?”

Viktor can’t help but smile. “So you’re not sleeping either,” he says, louder.

“Can’t.” Yuuri rolls over, and while Viktor can’t see anything, he can perfectly imagine Yuuri facing him, snuggled up in the blanket, his pupils large in the dark. “Too many things on my mind.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The moment of hesitation stretches out and when Viktor has given up on getting a positive answer, Yuuri’s soft voice breathes out, “I was thinking that maybe it was my last competition.”

“Yuuri! Why do you say that?”

“Well, it might be difficult to compete now that the world is gone.”

Viktor isn’t buying his humorous tone. There is something more to it.

“Is it really only because of the state of the world?”

Yuuri’s silence speaks for itself. But Viktor can’t help giving him an additional little push.

“Yuuri… You’ve been considering retiring?”

“I… I didn’t make a decision. I haven’t thought about my future yet. I thought I’d try and redeem myself during the Nationals but… well.”

“For what it’s worth, I really enjoyed your performances.”

“Oh, it’s okay. You don’t have to do this.”

Viktor presses his lips together. He’s never been good at comforting others, he’s fully aware of it. It doesn’t help that whenever he tries to encourage a fellow skater, it’s interpreted as condescension. He wants nothing more than to make people happy, get better at helping them with their struggles, but how is he supposed to do this if he isn’t given the chance?

“You really mean it?” Yuuri says, sensing the sudden tension.

“Why would I give compliments I don’t mean?” Viktor replies, his tone a bit dry.

“Because… I flubbed all my jumps. And my final score was a hundred points below yours.”

Like Viktor thought. Condescension.

“Oh– oh God, I’m so sorry! It came out wrong… I’m not being petty, or trying to undermine your success, you totally deserved it, your programs were breathtaking and you worked so hard and…”

“And you didn’t?” Viktor turns on the light and Yuuri squints, briefly dazzled. “Stop selling yourself short. Your step sequences are flawless, and your musicality… When you skate, it’s like your body is creating music. This is how I felt watching you. Very few skaters can achieve that, especially not as naturally as you do.” His gaze turns soft. “One should never be scared of silence with you around.”

A mixture of astonishment and embarrassment flashes across Yuuri’s face. He looks away.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he says, his voice distant. “This wasn’t the skating I wanted to give. And I didn’t want people to believe this was the best I could do, especially not you, because…”

He abruptly sits up, eyes fixed on the windshield. “There’s someone out there.”

“What?”

“Turn on the headlights,” Yuuri urges frantically. “Turn them on!”

The beam pierces through the darkened trees that surround the rest area, cutting the shapes into some eerie, although utterly empty shadow theatre.

“It… it was there. Right in front of the car.”

“What did you see?”

“A shadow. Passing by. Or… so I thought.” Yuuri rubs his eyes. “Never mind. It’s foggy and I didn’t have my glasses on. It’s been a long and weird day, I must have dreamed it.”

Distress remains on his face though, and his fingers are gripping the blanket. Hoping to appease the tension, Viktor reaches out and rests his hand over Yuuri’s, without looking at him.

“Do you mind?” Viktor asks after a minute of not moving an inch.

Yuuri simply turns his hand around so he can hold Viktor’s. Viktor turns the light off again, letting the warmth of Yuuri’s skin soothe him.

“I can’t pretend I’m not scared of whatever is happening, because I don’t understand it. That being said, it shouldn’t stop us from living. For all we know, things might go back to normal in an hour. Tomorrow. In a week. Maybe in time for the Nationals. And when it does, you’ll want to be ready. We found shops open at regular hours, so I guess we can assume it applies to everything else, right? We’ll be able to go to the rink. And in case we can’t, I have an access badge I got from Yakov…”

“Wait… Wait a minute. What?”

“Yuuri, if we can only count on each other, then let’s do it.”

“You… you mean…”

“I’m offering you to be your substitute coach. And supporter. And… Everything else you might need. Besides, I too am uncertain about the future. For many reasons. And helping you through this could be a good way to figure it out. Who knows?” Viktor squeezes Yuuri’s hand. “I could do with some support too. And a friend.”

It’s such a hard thing to admit, and yet the words come out so easily. Talking in the dark really does facilitate confessions.

Yuuri squeezes back, the touch both firm and comforting. “Wow. I… I don’t know what to say, it’s…”

He sounds so moved Viktor’s heart wobbles.

“Anyway. We can talk about it once we’re ho– once we’re at my place,” Viktor quickly rectifies. Reluctantly, he lets go of Yuuri’s hand after one last stroke of his thumb. “It’s not your last time competing, Yuuri. I’ll make sure of it. You still have so much left to show the world.”

The soft “So do you” is the last thing Viktor hears before falling asleep, the memory of Yuuri’s warmth tingling against his skin.

***

As a child, Viktor spent many holidays in his grandmother’s village. It was a two-hour drive away from home, and while he adored his grandma, the village in itself never felt like a very welcoming place. The weather was always grey when he visited. Not a light grey with sporadic blue spots; an opaque, dark grey filling the sky entirely. Some houses were so old their walls had to be reinforced with anchor plates. The shopping street only contained a convenience store, a bakery, and the remnants of a bar that never found a new buyer. He hasn’t been there since her death and he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the last remaining villagers have deserted the place over the last decade.

Some of the areas they drive through look so similar to the village that they bring back many memories. Viktor is seized with a familiar feeling of dismal emptiness, which doesn’t disappear as they reach bigger cities and, as night falls, Saint Petersburg.

If it weren’t for the well-maintained façades and the modern winter lights, he could believe it has become a ghost town. There are plenty in Russia, as well as abandoned places. According to Yuuri, Japan abounds in them too. Hotels, schools, bowling centers… Viktor has always pictured them as these distant, fascinating places you only see in documentaries or horror movies. Never in a million years would he have thought he’d get to live long enough to see Saint Petersburg become the closest thing to an abandoned city.

He’s about to say he wishes Yuuri could’ve had a better first impression when he notices that Yuuri has his eyes glued to the window, taking in the scenery.

The winter decorations illuminate the trees, the palaces, the bridges with the most vibrant colours, splashing the white monotony of the snow that has been following them all the way here. Dozens of villages and cities from South to North, and not a single one without snow, like in the movies. At this time of the year, the weather in Saint Petersburg is usually rainy, or a mixture of rain and snow. Pure, thick snow however? Rarely.

All things considered, Yuuri couldn’t have gotten a more enchanting, albeit uncanny first impression of this city that has enthralled countless of poets and painters over the centuries. Viktor would swear the fairy lights turn themselves on as they drive by them, as if by magic, which is almost as frightening as the prospect of Saint Petersburg being plunged into perpetual darkness. Perhaps Viktor would have been able to enjoy the scenery, hadn’t it been his hometown. His familiar, crowded, animated, all-round snowless hometown.

“It’s a beautiful neighbourhood…” Yuuri says as they reach Viktor’s building, his voice still filled with awe. Unable to access the private underground parking lot – since Viktor went to the airport by taxi, he didn’t think he would need his badge – they park in the vicinity.

“Viktor?”

“Hm?”

Yuuri is staring at him, smiling. “I was asking which floor you live on.”

“Oh, sorry. Top floor.”

“You must have a nice view.”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Very nice.”

Viktor struggles to focus. And despite feeling drained and gross from the journey, he doesn’t get out of the car. He should, though. It’s unfair to let Yuuri take out the luggage on his own. Yet his limbs won’t let him undo his seatbelt. The idea of finding his apartment empty petrifies him.

Like back in Sochi’s parking lot, emerging tears begin to burn his eyes.

The door opens. “Viktor, I took your suitcases… out.”

Viktor turns away and pretends to struggle with his belt, as if Yuuri didn’t catch him in the act of wiping his eyes. He fumbles with it until the tears subside, then pins his fake smile onto his mouth before stepping out.

“Sorry! This stupid belt, huh… I always have issues with those. Once I was travelling by plane, for Worlds in Shanghai I think, and I got the one seat with a jammed belt, so I had to call the flight attendant and…”

Yuuri’s narrowed eyes dissuade him from trying to distract him with this terribly trivial story any longer.

“You go on ahead,” Yuuri says after a silence. “I’ll take care of this.”

“What– No! I’m not gonna let you carry all this on your own–”

“You need to be sure,” Yuuri insists. “As quick as possible, and the luggage will slow you down.” He takes a step closer. “Look, I… I’m not trying to make this about me, but I used to have a dog too.”

“Used to?”

Yuuri lowers his eyes. “He died a couple months ago.” He swallows. “He was my best friend, and I didn’t get to see him one last time.”

Viktor’s shoulders sag. Poor sweetheart. No wonder he didn’t feel his best during the GPF. On top of struggling with stress, he had to deal with his grief, and Viktor can only admire him more for skating the way he did despite everything. It takes all his willpower to not pull him into a tight hug.

“Anyway, my point is… If I were in your shoes, and if there were a tiny chance he might be alright, I’d drop everything to make sure of it. It would kill me to stay in the dark.”

“You… you think she might be there?” Viktor says, a small sparkle of hope in his voice.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri replies, gentle. “You’re here. I’m here. So.. why not? Please, go on ahead. I’ll tail you.”

Viktor looks down at the pile of luggage at Yuuri’s feet. Even after all these years, he’s still amazed at how much space skating equipment takes. “I can’t let you carry my things.”

“I won’t damage anything, promise.” Yuuri smiles. “I’m stronger than I look.”

“That’s not what I meant…” 

Oh, Viktor doesn’t doubt Yuuri’s strength for a second. He’s an athlete, and given the muscles that Viktor saw more than a glimpse of during the banquet, no doubt that he could carry ten suitcases at once with his bare hands. But that’s beside the point. It’s a matter of principle and politeness. Yuuri is his guest, not a porter.

Yuuri’s gaze is so insistent that Viktor eventually gives in.

“I don’t mind making another trip to get my luggage. Just take care of yours.”

“Fine, please go, you’ve already wasted too much time,” Yuuri begs.

“Wait, before I forget…” Viktor digs through his bag’s pockets. “Here. This is a spare access card to the building, and a double of my keys,” he explains, laying in Yuuri’s gloved palm the card and a key with a door number tag attached to it. “I always keep them with me just in case. From now on, they’re yours.”

He intended to make it a bit more ceremonious. He folds back Yuuri’s fingers over the two keys, and Yuuri looks at their joined hands with as much wonder as if Viktor gave him access to a secret paradise.

“Thank you,” Viktor whispers. “For not thinking I’m ridiculous.”

It feels so vulnerable to say that. Yuuri frowns. “I’m the very last person who could laugh at you.”

He rests his free hand over Viktor’s, a touch so sudden and fleeting Viktor doesn’t have time to register it before it ends, but Yuuri’s faint blush in the semi-darkness confirms he didn’t dream it. After one last exchanged nod, Viktor lets go and sprints to the building’s entrance then into the elevator, his fear partially morphing into a new form of optimism.

Along with Yuuri, Makkachin is the only living being he’s genuinely wanted to be with lately. Maybe this bizarre universe listened to his wish. Maybe Makkachin will be waiting inside, scratching at the door before the key is in the keyhole because she’ll have felt his presence. She will tackle him to the ground as soon as he steps inside. He will laugh, tell her that he missed her too, ask her if she’s been a good girl while already knowing the answer…

Why can’t this elevator go up faster?

He frets in front of the doors, hopping up and down, then throws himself out and resumes his frantic race as soon as they ding open.

When he finds himself in front of his door, though, he hesitates.

While he didn’t really prepare to find the place empty (how does one prepare for something like that?), he’s even less ready now that the seed of hope has been planted.

He doesn’t know how to live in an apartment where Makkachin is not.

Torn between dread and impatience, his shaky fingers turns the key in the lock. Then turns on the light.

He slowly enters the living room. In a corner, Makkachin’s toys lie scattered around the baby blue basket that she uses more as a toy box than as a bed since she always sleeps in Viktor’s room. Her rubber bone, her red and green-striped ball… and her favourite, a squeaky seal plushie she’s had since her third birthday and that she brings Viktor to comfort him whenever he’s sad. Because in her mind, what makes her happy can only have the same effect onto her papa.

Rightfully so.

Viktor picks up the seal, pressing it once. A weak squeaking noise comes out of it.

It’s usually enough for her to come hurtling.

His stare vacant, he kneels by the basket and gathers the toys in it.

“Viktor…”

It startles him.

Yuuri has left his bags and suitcases behind in the doorway to get closer to him, just a bit, as if he doesn’t dare come in. He wrings his hands, his expression both compassionate and apologetic. _Forgive me for this false hope_ is what Viktor can read. As if any of this is his fault.

Before he can say anything, Viktor stands up, the fake cheerfulness back into place.

“Where are my manners? Please, take off your coat, make yourself at home, I’ll go get my luggage. Don’t worry about yours, I’ll carry it to the guest room later. Would you like tea? Dinner? You’ll have to tell me what you like for breakfast. Oh, before that, I suppose you’d like to freshen up a bit, right? Let me show you around. The bathroom is down the hallway, last door on the left, and the laundry room is…”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While they try to figure out what could have happened to them and to the rest of the world, they also try building their new daily life together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this one took me longer than I expected, I believed I was done with this chapter months ago until I decided to add a full new scene at the last minute (and when I say last minute I do mean Last Minute). But now I realise how necessary it was, and I'm so glad I didn't rush the update process. Thank you for the comments and kudos and I hope you will enjoy this new chapter with all my heart ♥

This is Viktor’s first night in a real bed in three days, the ideal moment to catch up on his beauty sleep. Yet he wakes up no less than three times, from nightmares he remembers nothing about.

He is lying ramrod straight on the mattress, the plush seal clutched against his pounding heart. He keeps his ears open for any sound that might come from the guest room. Unfortunately, since it’s at the end of the hallway, he can’t hear much.

Viktor has gotten so used to having Yuuri near him that being alone again frightens him. Who knows if Yuuri isn’t going to disappear now that Viktor doesn’t have his eyes on him anymore.

It’s not like he could have suggested they sleep together, though. Sleeping in the same car in two distinct seats is one thing; sharing a bed, however…

Viktor rolls over, curling into a ball under the covers. Ridiculous. He’s an almost twenty-seven-year-old adult, he can sleep alone with no problem. Not counting Makkachin, he’s done it for most of his life.

Twenty position changes later, he gets out and tiptoes in the dark to the guest room. He feels like a creep, but one sound is all he needs. A rustle of sheets, a sigh, a snore… and his mind will be at peace. As he prepares to put his ear against the door, it bursts open, making him shriek and jump backwards.

The light switches on in the guest room, revealing Yuuri’s squinting face. “Oh!” He looks away from Viktor’s bare chest. “Sorry, I didn’t– I didn’t expect you’d be–”

“No, I am sorry, I just…” Damn. What kind of excuse can he give? “I just wanted to check if…”

“Yeah,” Yuuri nods, although Viktor hasn’t finished his sentence.

“…if everything was okay.”

“Me too. I mean, no. I was going to… uh…”

“The bathroom?” Viktor suggests.

“Yes,” Yuuri says with a hint of relief. “Bathroom.”

Viktor nods. “Well. Come see me if you need anything. I’ll leave my door open a crack.”

“Okay. Me too.” A silence. “Well, I’m just… gonna go to the bathroom. Since it’s where I was heading.”

“And I’m… going back to bed.”

“Yeah.” Yuuri runs a hand through his messy hair with a shy smile. “Well then. Good night, Viktor.”

“Sleep well, Yuuri.”

***

The first couple of days, they don’t dare go outside. Viktor has enough supplies to withstand a siege, and staying inside makes it easier to maintain the illusion that everything is normal. That Viktor simply invited a new friend to his place to watch DVDs and have hot drinks and play board games. Viktor owns tons of them he never plays, for lack of time and playmates.

When was the last time he invited friends over, just for the sake of being with them? He isn’t sure how to go about it. What the etiquette is. It stresses him out. He cleans up the guest room – no, Yuuri’s room – every day, not wanting a single speck of dust to affect the quality of his sleep. He’s given him essential oils so he can relax, as well as fragrance sachets for the closet. He wants to turn what seems like their only safe haven into a cocoon.

Paradoxically, although Viktor insists that Yuuri make himself at home, he doesn’t allow himself to laze around or be seen unkempt. Which means no breakfast in his penguin-printed robe, no feet on the couch, no chocolate wafers (his secret pleasure) at any hour… He showers at five in the morning to be sure he is dressed and his hair is done by the time Yuuri wakes up, he holds himself straight whenever he sits, and his coffee table has never been so tidy.

It’s exhausting, having to act cool all the time.

And Yuuri, observant Yuuri who despite his reserve tends not to mince his words at the most unexpected moments, is quick to point it out.

“Viktor… you don’t have to overdo it.”

“Overdo?”

Between them lies the remnants of today’s breakfast, or rather breakfasts, plural. Omelets, sandwiches, syrniki with five different jam flavours…

“Ah, yes, maybe making both matcha tea and ginger tea wasn’t necessary. I wasn’t sure what you’d want today--”

“No, I’m not talking about the breakfast. I mean, that too, but not only. It’s just… so strange. Me at your place and everything. It happened so fast, I still have trouble believing it. And you do everything to make me comfortable.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“Because you do it at the expense of your own comfort. This is your home. I don’t want you to act differently just because I’m around.”

“What makes you say I act differently? You haven't lived with me before.”

“I spent forty-eight hours in a car with you.”

“That's not comparable…”

Weak riposte. Indeed, these forty-eight hours of eating with his fingers, wearing layers upon layers of unmatching clothes to keep warm and shoveling snow blocking the road with the means at hand didn’t show Viktor as his most glamorous self. The illusion was shattered before it even began. 

“It's okay. I get it. I get it all too well.” Yuuri gives him a timid smile. “I’ve been walking on eggshells around you too. I was so impressed. But I discovered new sides of you, so different from the image I had in my head, so natural. It made me feel much more comfortable. So… I don’t want you to be scared to be yourself in front of me.”

Viktor stares at the remnants of tea leaves in his mug. “I’m not sure how to be myself here. It’s like living through a mirror. This is my home and it isn’t at the same time. So if I feel out of place, I can only imagine what it’s like for you, being in an unknown city in a foreign country. I want to make it as pleasant for you as possible.”

“It’s not harder for me than it is for you, it’s not a contest. Please think about yourself. You said I could be honest with you, what’s the point if it doesn’t go both ways? What do _you_ want to do today?”

Viktor goes to the window. From here, they have a splendid view over the city. Despite the circumstances, despite the abnormal layer of snow and the film of ice glazing the canals, Saint Petersburg has remained the same. And despite his fear, Viktor longs to step out of these four walls. Breathe the city in. Reveal to Yuuri all its secrets.

“How about a day trip…?”

“I’ll get my coat.”

***

As it turns out, sightseeing wasn’t that great an idea.

One might assume that being alone in the city gives you absolute freedom to do anything and everything. In reality, it drastically limits potential activities. They can’t eat at a restaurant or order takeaway. They can’t go to a tea room and enjoy hot beverages and pastries, go to the movies, go clubbing… Not that Viktor particularly likes clubbing (in fact, he doesn’t), he just wishes he had the option. What’s the point in having open access to all stores and establishments if none of them can be enjoyed properly?

“See that restaurant?” While holding the cup of tea he got from a vending machine, Viktor points at the corner of the opposite street. “This is where I go sometimes after practice.”

He guides Yuuri to the nearest park, continuing his talk.

“Yakov can’t stand it because everything on the menu goes against the diet, but it’s important to indulge yourself once in a while, right? Their solyanka is absolutely divine.”

“Solyanka?”

“It’s a spicy soup. I’m sure you’d like it.”

“I wish I could’ve gotten the chance to try it,” Yuuri says, his voice turning a bit sad.

They sit on a bench in front of a half-frosted fountain, its water jets frozen into stalactites and spirals. Exchanging a tiny smile, they clink their steaming paper cups together and drink a gulp of their beverage. While the citrus flavour tastes rather bland, the hot water deliciously warms Viktor up. In a deserted world, you learn to appreciate simple joys.

As he tries to come up with something to say, the sound of rustling pages disturbs the silence. Yuuri is reading out of a notepad resting on his lap, his hand on his mouth and his eyebrows furrowed.

“What is it?”

Yuuri slams it closed, and Viktor recognises the notepad he ripped a page from in the hotel room. “Nothing.”

“Okay, sorry. That’s none of my business.”

The subject is closed. Or so he thinks because a minute later, Yuuri opens the notebook again.

“I’ve been trying to make a list of hypotheses.” He pauses to have a sip of his hot chocolate, holding the notepad open with his free hand. “About what’s happening. They all suck though, I couldn’t come up with anything plausible… I thought getting some fresh air would help me think of better ones…”

Viktor laughs. “Yuuri, this whole thing is anything but plausible, we can’t apply Occam’s razor. Please share. You know what they say, two heads are better than one.”

Yuuri places the notepad between them, looking away in embarrassment. The list is written in English, a clear indication that no matter what he pretends, Yuuri had no intention of keeping it to himself. Viktor casts a soft glance at Yuuri, then reads.

> • ~~_elaborate prank_~~  
>  • ~~_aliens_~~  
>  • ~~_we’re no longer alive_~~  
>  • _we fell into a parallel world_

“You almost crossed them all out,” Viktor points out.

“Because they suck.”

“Not at all! We need all the ideas we can get. Let’s go through them together, okay?” Viktor drinks more tea for inspiration. “So. Number one. Elaborate prank? Hm… to be honest, that's what I thought when it started. But on this scale and for so long… And I don’t see why anyone would do that, though we can think about it…”

“You don’t have to go soft on me, really. I know it makes no sense--”

“Yuuuuriiii. Enough with the self-denigration,” Viktor scolds, feeling himself switching to his new, still foreign coach mode. “I don’t like to hear that. You deserve to be listened to.”

It slipped out. He meant to say 'Your ideas deserve to be listened to'. He means it either way, but maybe it was a bit too much. Without looking at Yuuri, he goes on, to pretend it was intentional and that he's in perfect control of the things he says.

“Okay, let’s go to number two. Aliens?”

“Come on,” Yuuri scoffs as Viktor smiles in spite of himself, “I added that one only because the list would’ve been too short.”

“I take it you don’t believe in them?”

Yuuri seems deep in thought, even though Viktor is only teasing.

“Well… I do believe we aren’t alone in the universe. Under normal circumstances at least. I just don’t buy into the way aliens have always been represented. We keep projecting human physical traits onto them, and it just shows how beyond us and our imagination this all is.”

“Then why discard the alien hypothesis? This,” Viktor makes vague gestures in the air, “is beyond us.”

“Fine, let’s keep it if you want.” Yuuri draws a question mark at the end of the line.

“Number three…” Viktor’s words trail off. Just reading it makes him queasy.

“Yeah.” Yuuri swallows. “I didn’t want to think about it, but I couldn’t ignore it either.”

“I don’t feel dead,” Viktor says after a moment, spelling out the word Yuuri purposefully avoided. “I mean, not that I know what it’s supposed to be like, but I don’t feel any different. Do you?”

“I don’t feel different.” Yuuri lowers his head. “The rest of the world does.”

Viktor nods, agreeing on the nuance. “Which leads us to number four, the parallel world hypothesis. It’s the only one you didn’t cross out.”

His tone must have conveyed the wrong idea because Yuuri asks, “Do you think I should have?”

“No, no! Although I don’t believe in human representation of parallel worlds any more than you believe in human portrayal of aliens. Maybe because I read all these fantasy novels involving alternate universes when I was younger and… hey, no!” Viktor protests as Yuuri, with a sharp stroke of the pen, strikes through the words. “What are you doing?”

“The more I think about it, the more I wonder how I could’ve come up with such a pile of bullshit,” Yuuri mumbles, sliding the notepad back into his jeans’ pocket. “And made you read it.”

“You didn’t make me read it, I asked to,” Viktor says with more intensity than intended. “Like I said, this is all beyond us. How can we reason logically when the situation isn’t?”

“Which is why it’s pointless.”

“Which is why I’m open to all possibilities,” Viktor corrects. He shifts closer. “You’re not telling me everything. Am I wrong?”

Yuuri takes another sip as if to buy himself some time before speaking.

“I can feel them sometimes. People passing by. Not physically speaking, just… their presence. It started at the rest area, where we spent the night. And… I get the same impression at your place.”

“You mean… like ghosts?”

Yuuri shakes his head, nervous. “I believe in the existence of spirits, to some extent. But it has nothing to do with how I feel when I sleep in the guest room. It's like… like I’m not alone in my bed.”

“Yuuri! Why didn’t you tell me? If you feel unwell in this room, we can switch or…”

“Viktor, I’m not taking your room.”

“It’s a very good room, and the bed is just as comfortable–”

“That’s not the point. Don’t insist.”

Yuuri’s firmness makes it sound like an order. Viktor raises a hand in surrender.

“All right then. If you change your mind, my door is open. In every sense of the word.”

Viktor sits back and closes his eyes. He’s never felt presences of any sort, but Yuuri is not a liar. His unease is not baseless. And pretty ominous. Whatever might be lurking in Viktor’s apartment, around them, it must exist, and Viktor will certainly not sit by and watch Yuuri feel unsafe.

As he tries to come up with a plan to conduct a thorough investigation of his place, Yuuri’s hand on his knee interrupts his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so curt… You already do so much for me, I don’t want to take your room on top of that just because I’m starting to imagine things.”

“I… don’t think you are,” Viktor replies, distracted by the warmth Yuuri’s fingers imprint onto his trousers’ fabric. “Could you describe it more in detail? The feeling?”

“Not really… I told you everything I could. And even if there were more, that doesn’t mean you’d be able to feel it.” Yuuri’s shoulders sag in defeat and, to Viktor’s chagrin, he takes his hand away. “I probably was so eager to believe we’re not alone I just convinced myself that there's something, or someone out there.”

Viktor can feel it’s time for a break. He discards their empty cups in a trashcan and gallantly holds out his hand for Yuuri to take it. He helps him up, then links their arms together.

“I’ve always wanted to wander around the Hermitage Museum freely, without other visitors blocking the view. What do you think? It’s something you have to see at least once in your life. Then we could explore the metro, it's a piece of art in and of itself. And after that…”

His mind fills itself with ideas. Museums, parks, cathedrals, palaces. Damn it. The two of them will enjoy everything there is to see in Saint Petersburg, and they’re going to love every second of it.

“Tell me. What do you want to see first? Your choice!”

“Well… You said you often go to that one restaurant after practice, so I guess the rink isn’t far away from here?”

“The… oh-- oh! Yes, of course!”

“But that can wait, if you'd rather--”

“I’d love to show it to you! Besides, you need to see where it is. I’m your temp coach, my job is to make you practice, and it can’t be done if you’re not used to the place, right? _En route !_ ”

Talk about a coach… He was so focused on touristic spots that he didn’t think of properly introducing Yuuri to the rink. Yakov would never have wasted time getting him back to work.

“Viktor…”

“Yes?”

“Seriously, how long do you think we can survive in an empty world? I mean, from a practical point of view. Before we run out of water and edible food and…”

“Hey, hey, no more disaster scenarios! It could take years before we get through all supermarket supplies in the area. Besides, haven’t you noticed? Even after all this time, the fish, the fruits and vegetables… they haven’t spoiled. They always look fresh.”

“…You’re right,” Yuuri says, amazed. “How’s that possible?”

“Maybe the employees’ spirits keep refilling their stocks just for us.” It earns Viktor a soft laugh from Yuuri. “Joking aside, I’m afraid I can’t explain it. Maybe our perception of time is more distorted than we thought.”

“Probably…”

“Anyway, if expiry dates have become irrelevant, it means we can eat anything without worry. Which is quite amazing, come to think of it.” Viktor starts musing aloud, “We’re living in a world where money isn’t needed, where we won’t feel hunger, where no one can stop us from doing whatever we want…”

“Sounds like a utopian dream when you put it like that.”

“I’m just trying to stay positive.”

“And that’s something I really admire about you,” Yuuri says fondly. He rests his head on Viktor’s shoulder, making his heart race. “I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”

Viktor doesn’t know what he would do without Yuuri either. The only reason he manages to keep it together, to look on the bright side of the situation, is because he’s got Yuuri by his side. Otherwise, he would have given up a while ago.

“You won’t have to find out. I’m not going anywhere.”

They remain silent for a moment, huddled together like birds in the cold as they keep walking.

“Still…” Yuuri continues, his tone significantly more worried. “What’s gonna happen to us if things never go back to normal?”

“They will,” Viktor assures despite having no idea. Judging by Yuuri’s stiffness, Viktor’s optimism hasn’t fully reached its target. “I promised you would compete again, remember? In the meantime, well…” He hugs Yuuri’s arm tighter. “I’ll cook you that solyanka myself.”

***

Thankfully, they don't need to go back home to fetch Yakov's pass: since it is the time when the arena would be normally open, they get in with no problem. Not that Viktor would have minded, though. Making Yuuri happy is worth all the detours. He seems so excited to see the place, and the fact that he tries (and fails) not to show it makes it even more adorable. Viktor doesn't deny himself the pleasure of teasing him.

“Why do you look so amazed? You haven’t even seen the rink yet,” he says, smirking, as they walk down the hallway.

“It’s just that I’ve seen so many pictures of this place over the years…” A faint blush taints Yuuri's cheeks. “It’s impressive to see it in real life.”

Since they met, Viktor has never viewed their relationship from an 'idol and fan' angle. He considers Yuuri a fellow competitor, his equal and his friend, so it’s easy to forget Yuuri’s position as a childhood fan. No doubt that all the magazines he read and the sites he visited were riddled with pictures of the rink, and that it must feel like visiting a magical country after fantasizing about it for years. Viktor knows this place like the back of his hand, so nothing about it feels magical anymore.

Or rather… nothing about it _should_ feel so anymore. Yet he has to admit that there is definitely something foreign and magical, albeit in a disturbing way, about seeing the arena so empty in the late morning. Even during his 5 A.M. trainings, he generally comes across at least one person – an employee or another morning skater. When they arrived earlier, they could see the interior lights reflected through the large windows, and while it’s only because the lights are set automatically, it briefly nurtured the illusion that there were people inside, practicing as usual. But Viktor knows better than to indulge in false hopes.

Taking his guiding role to heart, he gets over his unease to show Yuuri around. The locker room, the break room, the second rink reserved to hockey players, even though he knows this isn't the one Yuuri wants to see. He tells random anecdotes about each area to make him laugh. Then he takes him to the stairs leading to the upper-floor booth.

“Watch your feet.” Viktor steps over a bundle of cables then slaloms between boxes towards the mixing table. “I promise it's not so messy usually. The rink’s sound system was to be remodeled, but I guess the technicians disappeared before they got to finish the job…”

Yuuri couldn't care less about the mess. He presses his hands against the glass and stares at the smooth, glowing, perfectly maintained ice with shiny eyes. Viktor intended to save it for last, but one does get quite a stunning view from here.

“So… this is where you skate. Where all your routines were born.”

Despite the ‘you’, Yuuri sounds more like he’s talking to himself than to Viktor.

“It’s amazing.” He turns around beaming, reminding Viktor of the sheer enthusiasm he displayed during the banquet. “I wish I’d brought my skates.”

“Already?” Viktor laughs. “Well, it's very rewarding to see my temp student so motivated when we haven’t even started working together… Oh.”

"What?"

Something in the corner caught Viktor's eye, attracting him like a moth to a flame. Students like to hang out in the booth during breaks, and what doesn’t end up in the lost-and-found office ends up here. Often phones, sometimes wallets… or that woolly bright purple scarf that Viktor takes gently in his hands like something fragile found in the rubble after a disaster.

“Mila.”

“Mila?” Yuuri repeats, joining him.

“Mila Babicheva. It’s hers,” he explains, not taking his eyes off it. “She left it here months ago and she kept forgetting to retrieve it.”

“Babicheva… Wasn't she part of the Ladies’ singles competitors in Sochi?”

Viktor nods. He doesn't know why he's so moved to see this. It’s practically part of the furniture now, there is no reason it shouldn't be here.

“Are you two close?”

“Not really," Viktor replies honestly. “She’s much younger than me and we have different schedules. But my dog-sitter is very good friends with her big sister, so…” He huffs out a laugh. “I guess we share some common connection.”

“She seems nice. And she's a great skater.”

“She is.”

Fiddling with the scarf, he thinks of Mila. Her respectful, almost shy tone while talking to him, contrasting with her loud laugh around friends… The delicious cookies she brought to celebrate a rinkmate's birthday… Her pleased surprise when he gave her his number in case she needed advice. As sparse as these memories are, he finds himself missing them. Missing her. He wishes he had taken the time to get to know her better while he still could.

A hand presses against his back, fingertips stroking in light circles. Taken by surprise, Viktor glances at Yuuri. He’s looking down, his lips pursed and his ears adorably flushed. The touch feels as bold as it is timid, and Viktor lets its warmth fill him like it did earlier on the bench, in silence. 

When the silence stretches out for a bit too long, Viktor lets go of the scarf and ruffles Yuuri's hair with a grin. “Let's get a closer look at the ice, shall we?”

He speeds down the stairs and Yuuri, still confusedly fixing his hair, falls into step behind him.

“Speaking of schedules, we should start organising ours,” Viktor says, speaking as fast as he walks. “Personally, I like to work early in the morning, but it's up to you, I don't want to break your habits too much. You can tell me how you're used to train with Coach Cialdini, and we'll go from there.” He pushes the door to the rink. “Don't hesitate to let me know what exactly you expect from me as a coach, in what ways you'd like to… progress…"

His voice trails off, and Yuuri bumps into him. The absolute silence that reigns, and something else he can’t describe, prevent him from approaching the ice. The rink looks exactly the same, yet it all seems so… big. So neat and so unfamiliar. How can a place he knows so well feel so different? And how is he supposed to skate on it as if nothing has changed?

“Viktor?”

“Hmm?” Viktor replies distractedly, until he realises he’s blocking Yuuri’s way. “Oh! Sorry!” He takes a step forward and opens his arms in a dramatic gesture as he spins round. “Ta-da!”

It lacks the effect of surprise now that Yuuri has seen the ice from the booth, but this is how Viktor planned to end the visit. Yuuri doesn’t say anything and simply stares. Maybe he thinks Viktor is overdoing it, again. Viktor lowers his arms and folds his hands together behind his back.

“I hope you enjoyed the visit.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. His spontaneity just flew out the window.

“Anyway, where were we? Ah, right! Schedules. So, uh…” he heads over a bench and sits. “How should we go about this?”

Yuuri remains standing, looking in his general direction but not directly at him, like he's thinking.

“Why don’t we go home and talk about it later?” he finally says.

This, Viktor did not expect.

“You already want to leave?”

“I’m having an amazing time. You have no idea how long I've dreamt of being here, let alone with you. But I should’ve realised how upsetting it would be for you.”

“I’m fine!”

Yuuri doesn’t berate him for lying so obviously. He holds out a hand, his eyes smiling softly behind his glasses. “We did something I wanted to do. It’s your turn now.”

Viktor looks away, too ashamed to have the energy to deny anymore. He didn’t mean to look so pathetic in front of Yuuri. He wanted to appear as the fun and dynamic temp coach he aspires to be, the one Yuuri deserves, but putting on an act won’t be enough.

“We could visit the museum you mentioned, after lunch. If you want.”

Viktor takes a small breath. “I didn’t think… I didn’t expect to…”

“I know.”

A small, sincere smile blooming on his lips, Viktor grabs Yuuri’s hand and lets himself be pulled up.

***

Day by day, they establish their new routine and create their own little rituals to make life together peaceful and pleasant. For example, they shuffle music during dinner, which has helped build a sense of calm, cosy domesticity between them. A ritual Viktor is exceptionally grateful for tonight, considering it’s the only thing that makes the tension bearable.

As he twirls the spaghetti around his fork, Viktor replays the afternoon’s scene in his mind, wondering for the thousandth time why he didn’t keep his big mouth shut.

It started so well. Following their new habit, they went to the rink to keep familiarising themselves with each other’s practice ways, strengths and weaknesses. Today, though, neither of them really felt like working and they ended up clowning around, dancing and playing like kids all over the ice, their laughter echoing endlessly. A perfect moment.

Until Viktor blundered.

“It reminds me of the banquet.”

Spontaneous, thoughtless words. It’s only when Yuuri asked him why that it all came back to him.

As far as Yuuri knew, they hadn’t interacted during the banquet. As far as Yuuri knew, Viktor hadn’t witnessed any of his public drunk shenanigans. As far as Yuuri knew, the first moment Viktor had talked to him was in his hotel room right after the disappearance of the rest of the world. All because Viktor made him believe so.

Impossible to backpedal. Viktor’s sudden panicked expression gave him away more than anything else could have. He tried to save face with some awkward “Because, well, Chris and I danced together and…”, which only mired him deeper in his lies considering he had told Yuuri he wasn’t around for most of the evening. Slowly, Yuuri put two and two together, and Viktor had no other choice than to call for a break.

Sitting in the stands, he recounted everything Yuuri – _they_ – did during the banquet, every challenge and dance-off, as Yuuri’s face crumbled in front of his eyes. Viktor expected the embarrassment, of course. However, he didn’t expect Yuuri to grab his bag and run away from the rink, putting a definite end to their session.

Why, oh, why didn’t he shut up?

He glances at Yuuri sitting opposite him. He eats absent-mindedly, the glare in his glasses hiding his eyes. To keep himself distracted from his obstinate silence, Viktor hums along the song playing on the docking station, hanging onto the lyrics and beats he knows by heart. Unfortunately, he doesn’t recognize the next song that comes on. Everyone has this mysterious song on their devices that they don’t remember ever downloading and never listen to, and Viktor is no exception to the rule. To make matters worse, the song isn’t even great.

He steals another glance at Yuuri, the second Yuuri does the same. They both avert their eyes and Viktor focuses back on his plate. It’s still three-quarters full. It’s going to be the longest dinner of his life.

“Why did you lie to me?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are my world, my world, my world..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again ♥ I intended to come back sooner but life happened, rather nicely in my case, and I hope it's been the case for you too ♥
> 
> Many things happen in this chapter, but not cutting it right in the middle felt right to me. I truly hope you will enjoy this rather long update, which contains one of my favourite scenes I have written! I've been waiting to put it out there for so long now, and I want to hear all your thoughts ♥ Also, you may have noticed that the fic went from 7 to 8 chapters as I had to revise a few things structure-wise. It's now settled, the fic will be 8 chapters long! I promise I'll perfect the next chapter as quickly as possible!
> 
> Thank you for all the comments, which I replied to before posting this ♥♥
> 
> (In case the link breaks, the song mentioned at some point is "You Are My World" by The Communards. Using this song was some kind of happenstance, I was listening to it one day while still in the process of writing this chapter and had an illumination haha, it is optional but I would recommend putting it on if you can ♥)

Words, at last. The question is terribly embarrassing, but it’s better than radio silence. Never mind that it's only been half a day, Viktor has missed Yuuri’s voice so much.

Oddly enough, Yuuri’s tone doesn’t sound confrontational. Rather… curious. Still, Viktor doesn’t dare face his gaze.

“There were so many other matters at hand. And you were shaken up enough. Then the topic wouldn’t come up, so…”

He feels like he's babbling. It seemed legitimate at the time, now it just sounds like a bad excuse. After all, he couldn’t have kept it a secret forever. Yuuri does not hesitate to twist the knife:

“You said we had to be honest and trustful with each other.”

“I know.” Viktor almost squirms under the metaphorical knife. “I made a mistake, and I don’t blame you for being upset.”

“Actually, it explains a lot. All this time, it felt like there was a piece of the puzzle missing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… Your offer to become my substitute coach, for starters. You got the idea from me… drunk me. Also, despite my turning my back on you when you suggested we take a photo after the competition, which I thought was our only interaction… You didn't bear any grudge. You’ve been keeping so close, and always kind and caring.”

Viktor puts his fork on the edge of his plate, a tired half-smile stretching the corner of his mouth. “I’m too affectionate, am I.”

It’s nothing new. Viktor doesn’t get attached easily, but when he does, he doesn’t do things halfway. It’s a fact, a defining trait even. As a result, he reads too much into people’s signs of affection, which scares them off. The pattern is sadly familiar. And the current situation only exacerbated his need for human contact.

He has done everything to let Yuuri have his own space and not push his feelings onto him at a moment when they were both vulnerable, and his effort still wasn’t enough.

“You make it sound like a bad thing.”

…Oh.

For the first time since the rink fiasco, Yuuri looks at him with fondness.

“I was surprised, is all. In a good way. As a long-term fan, I had this very specific image of you in my mind, and it stuck.”

“How did you imagine I was?”

“Ha… It’s a bit embarrassing.” Yuuri scratches the back of his neck. “I pictured you as very… impressive and charismatic, which you are, but also more… what’s the word… inaccessible?”

Viktor chuckles. “Like some cold ice prince?”

Yuuri blushes and redirects his attention to his spaghetti. But Viktor doesn’t want to let the conversation die. Something about Yuuri’s words pushes him to confess, open his heart.

“I guess you’re not wrong, even if it’s not my intention. I don’t have many friends. I mean real friends,” he clarifies. “It’s not like I’ve always lived my life completely alone. It’s just that, while I’ve known some of my rinkmates and competitors for over a decade, I’m not that close to them in the end.”

“What about Chris? I’ve often seen the two of you hang out during official events and talk on social media.”

“Chris is a familiar presence in my life, but I’m afraid he considers me more a long-standing rival than a true friend.” Viktor rests his chin on his interlocked fingers. “To be honest with you, I’m not very big on huge social events, skating-related or not. I generally go to them because I’m supposed to, not because I enjoy them. I didn’t expect anything from this year’s banquet.”

His expression turns unconsciously dreamy.

“And then… You waltzed in there and bewitched everyone, starting with me.”

“Bewitched…” Yuuri snickers, shaking his head.

“I said what I said. You turned what I thought would be a boring closing event into the most exciting evening of my life.”

“I didn’t do anything. I just drank my disappointments away, to the point of not remembering how I humiliated myself in front of everyone.”

It saddens Viktor that Yuuri views it as a humiliation. All people present were watching him, but none of them were laughing at him. There was shock, but above all else, there was admiration. He blew all conventions away, and invited other attendees to do the same. He took proud Junior gold medallist Yuri Plisetsky down a peg by winning a breakdance battle against him. He demonstrated his gorgeous pole dance skills, which no one suspected, especially not Chris who didn't hesitate to strip and join him despite being much more sober. He made Viktor feel _hope_. Just by being there, he turned everything around, and he doesn’t realise it.

“I get it,” Viktor says. “You hate losing control, and this isn't how things were supposed to happen. But when we danced together… It sparked something in me. Something I don’t want to lose.”

Yuuri raises his eyebrows.

“I think I lied because I was afraid of your reaction,” Viktor continues. “Maybe you would’ve wanted me to forget all about it, to pretend it never happened. I couldn’t do that, and I didn’t want my only ally to turn his back on me either. Maybe it was irrational of me, but… you did run away when I told you earlier.”

It probably wasn’t the cleverest thing to say. Yuuri makes no comment, and Viktor doesn’t know how to interpret it, but it doesn’t fill him with confidence. Opening his big mouth definitely never leads to anything good.

That’s it. He’ll stop talking.

After dinner, as Viktor wipes the table clean, he looks at Yuuri, who’s busy loading the dishwasher, from head to foot. Viktor is taller and has broader shoulders so his own sweater looks a bit loose on Yuuri. Yet, somehow, it fits him like a glove.

Yuuri was reluctant about borrowing Viktor’s clothes at first. But he didn’t pack many casual outfits before leaving Detroit, and stealing from stores was out of the question (in his own words, he has 'stolen enough things for lifetime already'). So he eventually gave in, repeating 'Are you sure you don’t mind?' as Viktor stuffed a pile of carefully chosen jumpers, hoodies and trousers in his hands.

Viktor is glad he insisted: the sight of Yuuri cleaning while wearing his clothes fills him with such warmth and fuzziness he could melt in a puddle on his kitchen floor. It almost looks like they’re a married couple.

Viktor snaps out of his daze. He can’t talk for five minutes without fear of ruining their relationship forever, and now here he is, picturing Yuuri as his husband? His craving for domesticity and contact really has gone to his head.

Yuuri closes the dishwasher and asks, “Do you like this song?”

Viktor forces himself to focus on the music and smiles upon recognising _You Are My World_ by The Communards, taking him back to his early twenties right in the middle of his obsession with ‘80s artists – Jimmy Somerville in particular. In lieu of an answer, he gives a thumbs up.

Yuuri turns back to the dishwasher and starts the cycle. Viktor expected a follow-up to the question, but apparently, Yuuri’s tactics to break the ice aren’t better than his.

Viktor throws an empty carton of fruit juice in the now full trash bag, ties it and shows it to Yuuri with a vague gesture towards the door. Not speaking feels more and more ridiculous, but this day is cursed. Who knows what else he might ruin by simply saying ‘I’ll take that to the garbage room‘.

Going down to the basement and coming back up doesn’t take more than five minutes, so his first thought when he crosses the threshold is that he walked into the wrong apartment. He double checks the number, just in case. No mistake.

The music has stopped. The lights are turned off, save for a few lamps here and there. The sliding door separating the living room from the adjoining conservatory is open. Viktor steps closer and finds Yuuri dragging a heavy potted plant against the window panes. Every other furniture has already been moved: the chaise longue, the small bistro table, the vases…

Was Yuuri taken by a sudden impulse to make himself more at home by redecorating according to his preferences? This is the only explanation Viktor can find.

Yuuri freezes upon noticing Viktor’s presence, like a kid caught with his hand in the candy jar.

“Uh, please don’t worry! I’ll put everything back into place later. It's a bit cold because we haven't opened the conservatory at all today, but I thought it would give us more room… And the lighting looks nice…”

Viktor takes a look around. In addition to the conservatory’s furniture, the couch in the sitting area has been shifted forwards, closer to the TV, leaving indeed a much larger space than before. What for, though?

Yuuri gives the final touch by turning on the conservatory’s lamps, bathing the room in soft pink. He takes his glasses off, [resumes the song from the beginning](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TDd_0YYk77M) then holds out his hand in invitation. Viktor’s confused eyes go from Yuuri’s hand to his gentle, mysterious smile.

Finally, he understands.

He moves forward, lays his palm on Yuuri’s, and he understands.

Under the ink-black sky and the dimmed rosy lights, Yuuri, enchanting, magical Yuuri, offers him a dance.

“I'm not as fun when I haven’t drunk but…” Yuuri draws Viktor closer to him then places his free hand on Viktor’s hip. “You deserve a dance we will both remember.”

For a plan hatched in five minutes, it looks amazingly well prepared. Yuuri is wrong: he is just as, if not more, impulsive and unpredictable and extraordinary as his drunk self.

Confidently, as though something flickered his switch, Yuuri's body fuses with the dynamic violin and piano, enjoining Viktor to do the same. To let himself be carried by the music.

He is a professional figure skater, with years of experience in tailoring his own programs to complex pieces of music. Some impromptu ballroom dancing should be child’s play. And yet…

Viktor closes his eyes, drawing on his memories of the banquet. Their carefree, intermingled laughter echoes in his ears, and only serves as a painful contrast for how different everything is now. With the absence of alcohol, everything feels more solemn, and the pressure to make it perfect, stronger.

That’s the problem. He wants it to be perfect, like it was that night.

Sensing Viktor’s tension, Yuuri places both hands on his hips. Viktor opens his eyes again. He can read on Yuuri’s unmoving lips, _Stop thinking so much. Just enjoy yourself._

It's the kind of thing Viktor would usually tell him. The student has surpassed the teacher.

One more time, the magic happens. Viktor feels himself loosening up, his body undulating in sync with Yuuri’s. And soon, they spin together all over the place, from the end of the conservatory to the middle of the living room. Yuuri slides his fingers against Viktor’s, revelling in the touch, then he intertwines them before twirling Viktor in perfect rhythm with the music. Occasionally he lets go, does a marvelously executed pirouette then sweeps Viktor up into his embrace again. Their eyes remain locked at all times.

Yuuri exudes such energy that Viktor finds it hard to follow. But Yuuri, relentless, keeps leading him and twirling him with virtuosity, as the crystalline lyrics echo in a very apropos manner “You are my world, my world, my world…”

Viktor will never listen to this song without associating it with Yuuri ever again. He marked it forever.

Mirroring his body’s movements, Viktor’s thoughts start spinning. No doubt that Yuuri is fully aware of the significance of his suggestion, and the extent of its effect on Viktor. He is impulsive, but not innocent. While he planned this dance on the spur of the moment – and the song choice was pure coincidence – he consciously decided to offer Viktor a dance where every touch, every burning gaze carries meaning. A controlled, intense dance tinged with eroticism.

No way Viktor is making this up. No way.

His elegant legs, his gentle fingers, his vigorous body… Yuuri’s entire being is pulling them into a world that only belongs to them. If Viktor didn’t already suspect that it isn’t generic human contact that he craves, only Yuuri’s, tonight has certainly confirmed it.

As the song fades out, Yuuri dips him, but Viktor’s socked feet slip against the smooth floor of the conservatory, ripping out a small cry of surprise out of him. Yuuri’s arms instinctively wrap around his back, saving him from a graceless fall.

“Whoa! Are you okay?” Yuuri chuckles in spite of his concern.

Viktor catches his breath, a strong wave of heat coursing through his body. This dance exhausted him almost as much as his GPF free program did. Almost.

“It’s fine,” Yuuri whispers, “it happens to the best.”

His cheeks look red under the deceiving pink lighting. He keeps his arms around Viktor, not caring that it’s unnecessary now that Viktor is steady on his feet, staring into his eyes.

What would happen, if Viktor decided to close the distance between their lips? Could there possibly be a best way to finish this dance? Could it be what Yuuri expects of him? The thought is both exhilarating and terrifying. If he’s wrong… Oh, he can’t even think about it.

“So…" Yuuri catches on a short breath, his hand pressing lightly against Viktor’s hip. “How was it?”

A giddy, diffuse feeling flows within Viktor, and he breathes out an exhilarated laugh. He couldn’t keep up with his resolution to stay quiet if he wanted to. Not a single man has ever made him feel so relaxed and safe and eager to get closer. Enchanting, magical Yuuri gave him this gift.

“Wow. That was. So good. Perfect.”

He tightens his grip around Yuuri’s shoulders, and Yuuri presses his whole body against him as he returns the hug, resting his hand on the back of Viktor’s neck.

“It was the best dance I’ve ever had,” Viktor continues, ecstatic. “I could have done it for hours.”

Viktor rests his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder, their bodies swaying together. He breathes into Yuuri’s, or rather his sweater. His own scent subtly mingles with Yuuri’s. He could faint from it.

“All night even. No risk of disturbing the neighbours.”

“Is that a challenge?” Yuuri teases.

“Haha, no, it would be a losing battle. You and your stamina would exhaust me.”

“We could go slow.”

His tone… Viktor swallows. He feels sleepy all of a sudden, drained from all the endorphins his body has released. Yuuri caresses his back as they let themselves be carried into slow dancing that probably doesn’t match the song currently playing. Not that Viktor pays attention.

“I’m glad I could give you this,” Yuuri says, his breath hot on his shoulder.

Viktor closes his eyes in frustration, as if it will make the image of Yuuri’s beautiful lips disappear. As if it will make him forget all the ‘what-ifs’ that could have punctuated the night had he acted braver.

Talk about a wasted opportunity.

***

For the next two days, Yuuri and his lips are all Viktor can think about.

Their dance plays on a loop in his mind, by day and by night, and his frustration increases every second. How could he not have seized this chance? It's not like him to behave so cowardly. After all, he hasn't had difficulty flirting with Yuuri until now. And since Yuuri made it clear that he’s interested...

Viktor has had a lot of time to ponder on it, and he doesn’t have the shadow of a doubt anymore. Yuuri was so open, so forward, so seductive that the least Viktor could have done was to return the favour and give him what they both wanted.

Time to make up for it.

They live in the same place, are almost constantly together, and no one is there to bother them. Opportunities should be pouring in. While saying good morning, before saying good night, while having a quiet time in the conservatory, after practice... or even during it, to congratulate him on a successful triple toe loop...

Viktor could kiss Yuuri at any time, in theory. But now that he let the ideal moment slip, all these possibilities feel abrupt and awkward and not as romantic as intended.

He quickly comes to the conclusion that he has to create his own occasion. Preferably something equally wild as the dance Yuuri offered him, because he deserves nothing less. He figures out his plan in a flash and this is how, in the early afternoon, they find themselves on top of Saint Petersburg.

“See, Viktor, when you said we were going on a rooftop tour today, I was a hundred percent up for it…"

“I know.”

Viktor can’t help gloating a bit. He really hit the mark on this one. A high spot, a relaxing yet daring activity… Right up Yuuri’s street.

“…but I thought I would at least be allowed to see before me.” Yuuri holds Viktor’s hand tighter, carefully putting one foot in front of the other along the sloping, snowy roof. “It could be slightly safer, don't you think?”

“Everything is secure, you have nothing to fear. It’s not like we’re on top of Lakhta Center.”

“What’s that?”

“The tallest skyscraper in Saint Petersburg, in the whole of Russia actually. A 87-story tower, can you imagine? It’s visible from here.”

“Yeah, I’d really like to see it for myself.”

“Patience, we’re almost there!” A few steps later, Viktor says, “Okay, don’t open your eyes until I tell you and let go of my hand.”

“Are you kidding? No way.”

“Yuuri, I told you, you have nothing to fear.”

“Either the eyes or the hand. Not both at once."

He was braver during their dance, Viktor notes with fondness, once again amazed at the deep duality of Yuuri Katsuki. Bold and reserved. Impulsive and attentive. Confident and wary. Viktor cannot wait to embrace the universe he keeps sealed within him.

"What are you doing anyway?” Yuuri asks.

“I’ve planned a little surprise for you. But I need my hands.”

“A surprise?” Yuuri’s hold around Viktor’s fingers loosens a bit. “You didn’t mention that.”

“That’s the point of a surprise. Trust me, you can’t slip, you’re as safe as you could be. It won’t take long, okay?” Viktor lets go of Yuuri's hand, then reaches over as if to touch his cheek, caressing the air between their skins. “You’ll love it.”

Yuuri gives a small smile, completely unaware of the deep affection in Viktor's gaze. Viktor drops his hand. He puts down the basket he's been carrying and begins to empty it. Five minutes later…

“You can open your eyes!”

Yuuri does… and discovers a thick plaid displayed on the highest part of the roof, where snow has been hastily removed. On the plaid are arranged, in a more or less stable way despite the low slope, tomato-cucumber and salmon sandwiches as well as thermoses of soup and hot chocolate.

“Ta-da!” Viktor announces, his arms spread out, unable to contain his excitement.

“Wow.” Half-amused, half-confused, Yuuri blinks at this unusual, improvised picnic.

“Do you like it?” Viktor asks, uncertain all of a sudden.

“This is… amazing,” Yuuri finally replies as Viktor breathes with relief. “Such a great idea! Can I… ?”

“Make yourself at home.”

Yuuri carefully walks up and sits down on the plaid, looking ahead of him. “Wow… what a view… Is it Lakhta Center?” he asks, pointing at the spire dominating the sky in the distance.

“Exactly!”

“Well, thank you for not taking me up there, I couldn’t imagine something more dangerous if I tried,” Yuuri laughs, and Viktor along with him.

“Many rooftop tours are organised around here,” he explains, leaning on the guardrail at the edge of the roof. “Climbing on roofs used to be illegal, but that didn’t stop people from doing it. Urbex fans, mostly. These tours became legal relatively recently. It took one year to find locations, establish itineraries, collect administrative papers and everything… That's why I knew the area would be safe.”

“You’ve done it before?”

“Only once, with a bunch of tourists.”

Unlike him, they were all accompanied by family and friends, which made him feel a bit out of place. While he loved the experience, he found himself yearning to share it with someone else. He hadn’t imagined that this ‘someone’ would turn out to be Yuuri Katsuki. Now though, empty world or not, he can’t picture anyone else he’d want to do this with.

And he can’t picture a better place to kiss Yuuri either. Above the city, above this world that tried to trap them in silence and solitude. This kiss will be proof that its plan failed, whatever it was.

Viktor only has a vague idea of how to proceed. He wants to go with the flow. They will eat, chat, have fun, and then… Then… 

Viktor looks down at the empty city, then at the white, blank sky. He raises his arms and bellows:

“ _LOOK AT ME! I WILL KISS THIS PERFECT MAN TODAY!_ ”

Yuuri bursts out laughing.

“You scared me! What did you say?” he asks, since Viktor had the presence of mind to use Russian.

Viktor turns back, his face feeling hot. “Just things I've been wanting to say for some time. Don't you have any? Things you've always wanted to scream in the face of the world?”

“Uh…”

“As your temp coach, I think it could be a good exercise to let go of any inhibitions you might have left. Get it all out, now’s the time.”

Yuuri gets up and joins Viktor by the guardrail, hesitant. Viktor looks away so as to not pressure him. Silence settles.

“It's okay if you don't want--”

The rest of Viktor's sentence is drowned in Yuuri's scream. It's fierce, powerful, and it catches Viktor off-guard. He hadn’t thought that Yuuri could shout this loud. Whatever it was that he said, it was passionate.

Yuuri breathes heavily, his cheeks flushed and his hands grabbing the guardrail.

“Wow,” Viktor chuckles, patting Yuuri's back. “That was… impressive. You okay?”

“Yeah…” Yuuri breathes out before smiling. “Yeah. You were right. It felt good.”

“I don’t know what you said, but I support you. Unless you secretly said I have bad breath or something,” Viktor teases, putting his arm around Yuuri's shoulders to hold him closer for a moment. “Do you have something else on your mind? Because I do.”

“Go ahead.”

Viktor climbs on the lowest bar of the guardrail.

“Wait, no!” Yuuri immediately grabs him by the waist, holding him firmly. “Be careful!”

There’s not much danger thanks to the guardrail’s height, but Viktor certainly won’t say no to Yuuri’s protective hands pressed against him, making sure he’s safe. He raises his arms again.

“WE ARE THE KINGS OF THE WORLD!” he screams in English this time, and Yuuri dissolves into laughter again, his hands shaking against Viktor's body.

"Are we now?”

Viktor simply smiles and steps back down, Yuuri waiting until the last moment to let go. Why not? What could stop them? They could become anything. They could construct any kind of life for themselves, anywhere. Promise not to steal anything that isn’t necessary for survival notwithstanding, they could settle in one of Saint Petersburg’s palaces, or in a cabin in the woods, or on a remote mountain… They hold the world in the palm of their hand, and it’s a power that verges on divine.

Not that he isn’t satisfied with his current life with Yuuri in his apartment. It is simply comforting to remember that the future isn’t frozen and that no matter what, something new and bright can always await them.

“You know… Maybe I shouldn't say that, but… I find it beautiful, in some way,” Yuuri says. “Not just the view, the city in general. And… a part of me wishes I could take pictures.” He turns to Viktor. “Do you find it weird?”

Viktor smiles with fondness. “No. There's a reason people are fascinated by abandoned places. There's some kind of poetry in them, isn't there?”

“But… I shouldn't be wanting to immortalise something like this.”

“Stock photo providers would pay gold for empty, snowy Saint Petersburg pics, believe me.”

“Haha, probably.”

“More seriously,” Viktor continues, facing Yuuri to hold him by the shoulders. “It's amazing to see beauty all around you no matter the circumstances. So if you want to take pictures, you should do it.”

Yuuri blinks adorably, pondering on what Viktor said… then dismisses it with a resigned smile.

“I don't even know why I'm considering it. I can't turn my phone on anymore because it stresses me out, and I don't have another camera.”

“I do,” Viktor replies. “I'll show it to you when we get back home. You can borrow it for as long as you want.”

“Oh no, no, it's fine!” Yuuri says, waving his hands. “It was just a random idea, you don't have to--”

“I'd be happy to!” Viktor grabs one of Yuuri's hands and holds it in both of his, making Yuuri fall silent instantly. “Just think about it, yeah?”

Viktor turns away, his right hand still holding Yuuri's because he doesn't want to let go first. The thing is, Yuuri doesn't let go either. Viktor eventually realises that he is staring at him, rather serious. He notices the shadows under his eyes and wonders how many hours he slept last night.

“Yuuri? Is there something wrong?”

“I just remembered I needed to tell you something.”

“Ah?”

“So… I’ve been wondering… If you’re not interested, I’ll totally understand, but…”

“Yes…?” Viktor says, his heart racing all of a sudden.

Damn. His words, his tone of voice… Is it really happening? Is Yuuri really going to beat Viktor to a confession? That wasn’t part of the plan…

Yuuri pauses. Far too long to Viktor’s taste. Why is he so hesitant? He can’t really think that Viktor will reject him?

“You were right about that second to last quad.”

“…Eh?”

“About my Free Program. I’ve thought a lot about it, and everything you said during our first practice was spot-on. That quad would have made the rest of the step sequence look stiff even if I hadn’t flubbed it. But I think I found a way to fix it, and I’d like your honest opinion.”

“You want… skating advice. For your Free Program,” Viktor repeats, stunned.

“It’s strange, I know. We had to kiss the Nationals goodbye and no matter what happens, it’s unlikely I’ll get to perform this program again. But I still like it, and I want to see where it could have gone. In any case, your advice will help for the future.”

Viktor’s excitement deflates like a balloon – a bright pink, heart-shaped, sparkle-filled balloon, now a shapeless mass of rubber skin lying at his feet.

Contrary to what he thought, they weren’t on the same wavelength. No matter what his feelings for Viktor are, Yuuri has other fish to fry. What he needs right now is not a kiss. It’s not a flight of fancy about their golden future in an empty world, nor a celebration of Saint Petersburg's beauty. It’s reassurance. It’s confirmation that what they’re doing isn’t all in vain.

Viktor has been so caught up in his feelings, in his new perspectives of life with Yuuri, that he forgot he gave his word that the Grand Prix Final wouldn’t be Yuuri’s last competition. And by extension, that he would do everything in his power to figure out how to get them out of here. If he ignored this promise, yet went along with the one he made himself to kiss Yuuri… He wouldn’t be able to look at his face in the mirror.

Indeed, he could do anything here… except helping Yuuri touch the heavens of the figure skating world.

Viktor grins, letting go of Yuuri's hand. “Of course I’ll help you. I’m your temp coach after all. I look forward to seeing what you came up with. But I won’t let you off easy, hm?”

Yuuri bows his head and murmurs a relieved, “Thank you. It means so much.”

Viktor strokes his arm, looking defiantly at the city’s landscape surrounding them.

He won’t let himself off easy either.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asks as he straightens back up.

“Sure. Just hungry. Aren't you?”

“I'm starving.”

“Then how about we do justice to those delicious sandwiches over there?”

***

Along with skating and dogs, Viktor has a passion that has never left him since childhood: books. School and training didn’t leave him much room for other activities, and any minute spent reading was precious. More than once he dreamed of freezing time and having the library all to himself. He would’ve built a fort with cushions between the shelves, taken all the books whose covers and titles appealed to him and read without being disturbed or having to worry about closing time.

To some extent, this empty world might be an ill wind in that it made his childhood dream come true. Except that his goal has significantly changed, and that the atmosphere feels much colder and eerier, even so early in the morning. No wonder libraries serve as the setting for so many ghost stories. There really is something special about them.

Viktor pushes his unease away and walks towards the stairs, his footsteps against the waxed wooden floor resonating through the large hall. He mechanically heads for the computer displaying the database, but a bad surprise in the form of a blank screen awaits him. He forgot that detail. No Internet, no database.

“Oh no, no way…”

Without the catalogue, his search is going to take ridiculously longer, but he wastes no time complaining. He decides to start with the few books he already has in mind.

In the fantasy & science-fiction section, he slides his finger over the book spines, stopping whenever he finds a familiar title. He ends up with a generous pile of books going from children’s literature to Gothic fiction, too generous perhaps. He wants to make a selection of “parallel worlds-related” books as varied as possible, so he can’t make it exclusively fiction-oriented. But he’s not sure where to find other resources on the subject that aren’t too far-fetched.

The astronomy section perhaps? It’s at the other end of the library, but it’s worth a try.

On the way, Viktor stops and looks at the heavy pile of books in his hands. They're too cumbersome to carry around, and he’ll need a comfortable place to study. He looks around and smiles as he spots his favourite area – the French section, with its soft purple seats. That would be ideal.

He puts the books on a table, sorts them into organised piles then walks across the floor towards the astronomy section.

When he finds himself in front of the imposing shelves, he stands there, completely at a loss. He doesn't understand half the titles, and some of them aren't even in Russian. He wouldn't even have been able to find relevant scientific books with the catalogue, why did he think he could without it?

He takes out a book at random, frowns at the cover, puts it back immediately and repeats until his eyes fall on the term ‘multiverse’ on a book spine. He immediately pulls it out, afraid he won’t find it again if he looks away. He feels a bit ridiculous hanging onto a single word like a shipwrecked sailor to a twig in the middle of the sea, especially when he skims through the first few pages. ‘Quantum decoherence’ here, ‘eigenstates’ and ‘wave function collapse’ there… 

“What am I getting myself into?” he sighs, sliding the book under his arm anyway. Just because quantum physics goes over his head doesn't mean he shouldn't make an effort. For Yuuri. After all, he is the reason Viktor does all this.

How can he help Yuuri if he doesn’t know what they’re dealing with? He needs tangible information and external opinions, and as of now, the only place he can find them is in books. People might be gone, but thankfully the remnants of their memories and knowledge haven’t been erased. If there’s a tiny chance this research clears a path towards finding out what the hell is going on, Viktor will do anything to grab it. It hurts to see Yuuri long for his life as a skater, throw wary glances around him like there’s something lurking, and get more tired with each passing day because of the lack of sleep generated by stress. Even if it results in him napping on Viktor’s shoulder.

Viktor blushes with pleasure at the thought. While his plan to kiss Yuuri fell through, something has definitely been unlocked between them. They smile whenever their eyes meet, for no reason. And they touch more often. A hand on the back while helping putting the dishes back up on the shelf, good night hugs that gradually last longer…

The quicker Viktor starts researching, the sooner he’ll be back home to see Yuuri and show him the fruit of his work. He really wants to impress him and shine a light of hope in his beautiful eyes.

It motivates him to get deeper into the stacks, but a strange, unpleasant sensation tickles his back as he does, like he’s being observed. Maybe it’s coming from the portraits on the wall behind him. Whose idea was it to hang them near the occult aisle, of all places?

He's never been in this area before. He had no reason to. He finds a few paranormal anthologies, but there is barely any information about the authors, which makes it difficult to judge whether the content is reliable or not. Like he told Yuuri, though, one can't reason logically when the situation isn't, so he needs to stay open-minded. He picks the book that inspires him the most and strides back to the French section without looking behind him. That sensation of being watched is really becoming unsettling.

Viktor slowly gets lost in the books and the note-taking process. Time stops. It’s like he’s back to school. He forgot how much he enjoys it, analysing texts and data, dealing with questions, coming up with theories. He’s often thought about applying to university after he retires, maybe for a literature or history degree… if he ever gets the chance. He’d rather not think about it now.

The book on multiverses is definitely unreadable for him, no matter how hard he focuses. Besides, researchers themselves are in disagreement and keep contradicting points previously made. It gives him a headache. He does take note of the mirror universe idea though, as it seems very fitting – a world that looks identical yet feels deeply different…

Viktor finds much more inspiration in novels. While they mostly rest on artistic licence, they can make excellent points. He rewrites tons of quotes on probabilities, on splitting worlds, on how new worlds can branch out with every choice made… His notes are a mess, but he begins to notice some patterns. For instance, most of these stories put a lot of emphasis on location, where the main disruptive element occurs. Schools, manors… hotels. 

Viktor stops writing and thinks.

The night after they tried to list their hypotheses, Yuuri told him about 'the elevator to the otherworld’, an urban legend originating from Korea. It’s a ritual that consists in entering a building at least ten stories high with an elevator, then pressing the floor buttons in a certain order until a strange woman you shall not speak to comes in – the sign that you have to get out. After that, you find yourself in a building that looks exactly the same, except that you are the only person present in it. Viktor doesn’t remember all the details, but Yuuri gave him a description of the ‘otherworld’ based on the experience of people who dared perform the ritual: endless hallways, lights off, a reddish sky visible through the windows… And the only way to leave is to go back exactly the way you came, without any misstep. Otherwise, you remain lost and trapped forever.

It creeped Viktor out, but he didn’t think much of it. After all, they were just trying to unwind and have fun by sharing strange stories, and it felt a bit cathartic. Now, he can’t help having doubts.

Maybe they made a mistake by leaving Sochi so soon. Maybe there were clues that could have been gathered, a path that should have been taken. Maybe the one way to fix this is to drive back there and…

And do what? Get in the elevator and press some buttons?

Viktor chews on the end of his pen, pensive. No… Sochi is not the crux of the problem. He’s convinced that it all pertains to him and Yuuri, and that they were lucky to be in the same place when it happened. Maybe the two of them are bound. Maybe…

He snaps out of his stream of thought and jumps out of his seat, staring straight ahead. He could swear he saw some movement in one of the aisles, like a shadow. His first – arguably stupid – reflex is to call, “Yuuri?”, because if there's somebody around, it can only be him. On the other hand, why would Yuuri play such games with him? It’s not really his type of humour. Viktor approaches stealthily, clenching his jaw without realising, his imagination racing along with his heart.

Those presences Yuuri told him about… Maybe it’s his turn to feel them. But it was so brief and fleeting… He could very well have missed it if he hadn’t been looking in this direction at this exact moment. He hides against the side of the shelf, takes a breath and rushes in the aisle to come face to face with…

Books.

After a moment of stunned silence. Viktor lets out a laugh, rolling his eyes.

“A library ghost. Couldn’t be more cliché if you tried.”

He doesn't know who he's telling this to. This world that seems to be poking fun at him, or himself for letting all these readings and strange stories go to his head?

He wants to go home. He's been here for a while and, as much as he hates to admit it, he's starting to feel really uneasy.

He only keeps the most relevant books as well as those he didn’t have time to check and puts the rest of them back to their initial place. Being alone is no reason to make a mess.

He quickly puts the not-so-borrowed books in his backpack and makes his way out. The heaviness of his bag slows him down, but when he finally reaches the apartment’s door, he’s more impatient than ever to tell Yuuri about his little expedition.

Viktor finds him sitting at the kitchen table, his back turned to him.

“Ah, you’re up!” Viktor says cheerfully. “Good, because I have a million things to tell you.” He divests himself of his backpack and puts it on the counter. “And I also need you and your fantastic intuition, I found so many new theories to expand, I'd love to hear–”

“Where have you been?”

Yuuri’s voice sounds strange. A bit strangled. He gets up and turns to Viktor, his ashen face contrasting with his red-rimmed eyes.

“Where have you been?” he repeats, louder and more insistent.

“The library…?” Viktor replies, confused. “I left a note on the fridge.”

“No you didn’t. You think I didn’t check?” Yuuri breathes through his nose, looking like he’s going to burst into tears any second. “You can’t do that. Vanish without a warning. We agreed on leaving each other notes because we can’t text, so the least you could do--”

“I didn’t vanish, I just went out! Why would I disappear?”

A mirthless laughter. “Why would anyone disappear?”

Viktor swallows.

“Yuuri, I swear I left a note. It’s…” Before he gets to question his own actions, he notices the corner of a piece of paper poking out from under the fridge, almost invisible over the white floor.

He squats down and takes it, deducing it must have slipped from under the magnet he’d pinned it with. He always forgets the Moomin one doesn’t stick well.

“Here,” he says, handing the post-it to Yuuri.

Yuuri reads it, his face turning even paler. He lifts his eyes, his stare blank, miles away.

“Yuuri?”

Without acknowledging Viktor, Yuuri flees the room, the note still in his hand.

***

Viktor goes to bed with the heaviest book he’s borrowed and an equally heavy heart.

He didn’t see Yuuri for the rest of the day. He only heard distinctive footsteps in the hallway after he decided to retreat into his room, which means Yuuri must have been on the lookout, waiting until the way was clear before going to take a shower or get something to eat. 

To clear his mind, Viktor opens the book and his notebook, and gives up after reading the first sentence fifteen times in a row. He buries himself in the covers with a sigh, giving one last look at the door left ajar as usual before turning off the lamp, wondering if Yuuri will even talk to him tomorrow.

Three knocks resonate in the darkness, right through Viktor’s heart. He springs back up, pushing the covers away, and turns the light back on.

“Come in, Yuuri,” he says, trying (and failing) to maintain a neutral tone.

His relief falters as soon as Yuuri steps in. He’s avoiding Viktor’s gaze, his arms shyly crossed over his chest, as if their relationship has gone back to square one. For the second time.

“You’re not upset with me anymore?” Viktor teases to conceal his nervousness.

“I wasn’t upset,” Yuuri mumbles.

“Then why were you hiding?”

“Because I was dying of shame.” He sits at the edge of the bed, which Viktor considers progress. “I totally overreacted, and I wish I could tell you I don’t understand what came over me, but I do.”

Viktor mirrors Yuuri’s position at the other end of the bed. “Well, explain.”

“It’s… so stupid. I had a nightmare last night.” He pauses. “You had disappeared without a trace, and I was all alone in Saint Petersburg. When I woke up and saw you were gone, I thought I was still dreaming. Or rather… that it hadn't been a dream in the first place.”

“Oh, Yuuri… I’m sorry. I understand now. It was just a bad dream, okay?” He gets closer and puts his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “I'm here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Yuuri doesn’t react to the contact. He doesn’t seem to register it. His posture feels stiff and closed off, so Viktor awkwardly removes his arm.

“Look, I’ve been thinking,” Yuuri says.

Viktor tenses. That tone cannot be a good sign.

“I can’t keep on like this. Worrying whenever you step outside, believing you might vanish whenever you’re not in sight. It’s not healthy. And this is not how I want things to go between us.”

“Right… So what do you suggest?”

“Maybe… Maybe we should take some distance.”

Really, really not a good sign.

“I…” A flabbergasted laugh escapes Viktor’s throat. “Sorry, I don’t get it.”

“We could try and live more separate lives. Temporarily.”

“You– you want to leave?”

“You know I can’t.”

Viktor’s blood runs cold. That touch of regret… It just brought back a fear he’s been harbouring since that moment on Sochi’s parking lot. The fear that Yuuri is only staying at Viktor’s place by default.

“But… How will that help?” Viktor asks, hating how vulnerable he sounds.

“I think being alone can help put things into perspective. Especially after so long being together constantly. I… um… We can’t let our lives revolve around each other. Do you see what I mean?”

Yuuri’s words are cannonballs fired right at Viktor’s heart. It’s like a nightmare. Remaining impassive, keeping the mask on has never been so painful.

“I see.”

“What do you think…?”

_Worst idea ever. The polar opposite of a solution._

“Your opinion matters too,” Yuuri insists.

_And yet it seems you already made the decision._

“Let’s do what you think is best,” Viktor says with a fake smile that hurts his mouth.

Yuuri doesn’t smile back. Maybe it isn’t the answer he expected. Viktor isn’t fluent enough in the Yuuri language to decipher all of his enigmatic expressions.

Yuuri furls and unfurl his hands over and over again, the tension in the room growing thicker as the silence drags on. Eventually, he looks away, and the smile that Viktor plastered on his face vanishes, giving way to anguish.

How will they both bear being apart after what feels like centuries of being together in this empty world? If he could express his opinion like his heart tells him to, what is it exactly that he would say? 

_Please don't go. Please stay close to me. Please don't leave me alone again._

It strikes Viktor like thunder, the realisation that runs down his neck and through his spine. The solitude that awaits him. With Yuuri, the whole plight of them being trapped in this cold absurdity was manageable. Being near him brought a light he'd never known, a sense of warmth and familiarity he wants to keep and protect at all costs.

Viktor edges his fingers closer to Yuuri's furling hands. He wants so badly to close the distance, to lace their fingers together, to forget Yuuri even made that proposition. But he can't.

He awkwardly moves over to the other side of the bed to give more distance between them. Yuuri takes it as a cue to make his way to the door.

“Well, I’ll leave you be.” He pauses, his hand on the handle, and says the ritual words, “Good night, Viktor.”

“Sleep well, Yuuri,” Viktor replies, the wish hollow in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Angst with a Happy Ending". Don't forget. "Happy Ending".


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Viktor has reluctantly agreed to live separate lives for some time, he can't help looking after Yuuri from afar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pfwah. I suffered with this chapter, you have no idea. It went through massive changes over time, and now I cannot believe that I once thought that what I wrote over a year ago (yep, I've been working on this fic for a looong time hehe) was publishable. It probably is the chapter that changed the most from what it was initially supposed to be, and while my perfectionism is being a tease as always and telling me I should make it better, I'm really happy and proud that I pushed through and turned a huge mess of random notes and confusing ideas into the chapter you can see now. I hope more than ever that you will enjoy it ♥
> 
> With all my heart thank you for your support and enthusiasm and love ♥♥

Viktor does not sleep well.

In fact, with Yuuri’s words flickering non-stop in his brain, as painful as a strobe light, it's a miracle that he manages to fall asleep at all. _Maybe we should take some distance. Temporarily. We can’t let our lives revolve around each other._ Did Yuuri really say that? It was so unlike him that a part of Viktor wants to believe he dreamt it.

He wakes up feeling groggy a little before lunch time, unsure whether he hopes or dreads to meet Yuuri. Questions are jostling in his head. Are they allowed to stay in the same room, share a few meals? Are they allowed to chat from time to time, or is it for emergencies only? What could be considered an emergency? They didn’t set rules of any sort. Viktor was so shocked last night that he didn’t think to ask what ‘living separate lives’ entails. Or ‘temporarily’. He’ll have to go along with Yuuri’s reaction when he sees him. If Yuuri greets him, Viktor will consider that small talk is fine; if he ignores him…

Viktor isn't given the chance to find out, because Yuuri is nowhere to be seen. The absence of his black sneakers by the front door and his beige coat on the rack indicates that he went out, but no trace of a note telling where. Right… They didn’t set rules about notes either, which is ironic since it all started because of them. Viktor doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, though. Maybe Yuuri didn’t leave one because he knew he wouldn’t be gone for too long.

Viktor showers and does his usual skin care routine, but despite intentionally taking his sweet time, Yuuri still isn’t back when he comes out of the bathroom. With a pang in his heart, Viktor cooks a quick meal and, unable to stop himself, wraps up leftovers for Yuuri before eating alone.

Once he’s done washing his single plate, Viktor doesn’t know what to do. Clean up? Everything is already spotless. Study the library books? An intense wave of demotivation hits him at the mere thought. Instead, he settles into the couch with a book he’s already read four times, a light-hearted romcom completely disconnected from paranormal and parallel worlds of any sort. He’s almost reached the middle when the front door finally opens.

Yuuri takes off his shoes, quickly averting his eyes when he meets Viktor’s.

His pulse racing, Viktor gathers his courage.

“There’s…” Yuuri immediately stares back at him with an expression akin to surprise, and Viktor is so disconcerted that he briefly forgets what he wanted to say. “There’s food for you. In the fridge. If you want.”

His own awkwardness makes him cringe. He almost feels like he should apologise for speaking.

Yuuri lowers his head. “I’ll be fine,” he replies, his voice ringing hollow, before speeding by the couch towards his room.

The day after, Viktor finds not only the untouched plate in the fridge, but also, to his amazement, the package of a single-serving ready-to-eat meal in the trash.

And that’s only the beginning.

Yuuri stops wearing anything that belongs to Viktor, going back to putting on the same few jeans and sweaters he packed to Sochi over and over instead. And if Viktor knows this, it isn’t because he saw it with his own eyes, since Yuuri now spends the majority of his time either inside his room or outside the apartment – it is because he’s found a pile of all the lent clothes, neatly folded, on his bed. Without a word, without a note. At this point, it’s only a matter of time before Yuuri hand-washes everything so as to avoid using Viktor’s washing machine.

Yuuri couldn’t make it clearer he doesn’t want anything to do with Viktor if he painted ‘LEAVE ME ALONE’ all over the walls in fluorescent pink. Yet the realisation takes a while to sink in.

Deep down, Viktor is an introvert. Much as he appreciates the media’s attention and loves making his fans happy, there always comes a point when the mask he’s expected to put on gets too draining to wear, like a heavy and itchy weight on his face. After big events or long interactions, all he wants is to barricade himself in his room with Makkachin, some calming music and his phone on silent mode. Upon living with Yuuri, however, he’s never felt that kind of exhaustion. Quite the contrary. Yuuri is relaxing to be around, and the conversations, the smiles, the affectionate gestures… they help him recharge. He loves them. He can’t get enough of them.

He believed it was mutual.

He feels incredibly naïve now.

What did he expect? That they would live together for the rest of their lives? Of course Yuuri would get tired of him eventually, after so long without seeing anyone else. They aren’t married, nor dating. In the end, they don’t even know each other that well. How long has it really been? Weeks? Months? Only a few days? He’s lost track of time. In any case, how long they’ve known each other, whether they’re together or not, it doesn’t matter: Viktor has no right to stop Yuuri from doing what he wants or needs.

If Yuuri wishes to avoid him, so be it. He’ll make sure Yuuri doesn’t cross paths with him again.

***

It’s the middle of the afternoon and he lies on his bed, in his penguin-printed robe, a pack of chocolate wafers keeping him company.

He doesn’t care.

***

Graceful as a swan, Yuuri glides over the ice, drawing large circles to get momentum before soaring into the air.

A Salchow. So marvelously executed Viktor can’t suppress a gasp.

“Beautiful. Much less shaky than last time. Enough rotations, perfect landing… You've been following all my advice.”

Yuuri stops to catch on his breath, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Viktor lays his palm against the cold surface of the glass, over Yuuri’s distant shape.

From the booth on the upper floor, Viktor feels like a prince imprisoned on top of an ice tower searching the horizon for a sign of his beloved. A pining, pathetic prince.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there, watching. He hadn't even intended to come here at first. He was so tired of staying cooped up that he'd made an effort to go out and stroll along unwalked paths – recognisable by the immaculate snow covering the pavements, unsoiled by their footprints. Eventually, he reached a street that he and Yuuri had walked down together, and one thing leading to another he found himself following the trails left by their soles, making sure not to step over Yuuri’s, as if he were still walking by his side. Their steps led Viktor to the arena, and he couldn’t resist the temptation. He _felt_ that he would find Yuuri in there. He was right.

After all, he promised himself that Yuuri would never cross paths with him, but nothing about not observing him from afar… or so he keeps telling himself to soothe his conscience.

“Won’t you take a break?” he says softly as Yuuri resumes the sequence from the beginning. “Ah… Your stamina never ceases to amaze me.” His cheeks feel hotter. “I shouldn't be surprised you decided to keep up with our practice schedule despite everything. You're a professional after all. And such a hard worker.”

He smiles.

“But don’t push those beautiful legs beyond their limits, all right?”

What Viktor wouldn’t give to be able to come down, lace his skates and wrap himself around Yuuri to be lead into another choreography.

He thinks back to that evening, and that moment on the rooftop, to those perfect days when everything was jolly and tender and he felt invincible. This strong hope for a bright and loving future for the two of them, anywhere they wanted… It sounds so incredibly foolish and insignificant now. What’s the point of all this space and freedom if he’s on his own?

A thump brings him back to reality, and he gasps. Yuuri fell, without any exclamation of pain, yet his jaw is clenched as he kneels up. He weakly slams the ice with his fist in frustration and keeps his head down, his body trembling. He wipes his eyes, stands back up and for the first time since he got here, Viktor gets a proper sight of Yuuri’s face.

He has a shock.

All too soon, Yuuri turns his back to the booth, wrapping his arms around himself as he slides to the middle of the rink. But Viktor didn’t miss how unwell he looks. How… sparkless, despite his dynamic moves and successful jumps – except for the last attempt.

“Oh, Yuuri… Didn't I tell you you needed a break?”

Viktor touches the glass, the tips of his fingers caressing the surface, and follows Yuuri's move as he skates to the left. He is so focused on Yuuri, almost hypnotised, that he doesn't watch his feet and trips over a cable, hitting a pile of boxes in unstable equilibrium. He doesn’t fall, but the top box isn’t as lucky: indifferent to Viktor’s powerless ‘No no no no no--’, it crashes down with a noise that could wake the dead, brand new audio equipment scattering all over the place. Viktor throws himself on the ground, out of sight, glaring at the speakers and mixing console accessories as though they were personally responsible.

If Yuuri comes up here and finds Viktor cowering in the middle of this mess… He will immediately deduce that he’s been spying on him. Never mind that Viktor wouldn’t call it that, this is definitely what it looks like. Maybe he will get angry. Maybe Viktor has completely ruined his chances at ever making up with him.

Viktor lies in wait for a couple minutes but, much to his relief, nothing happens. False alarm. He crawls on all fours to the booth door and slowly closes it behind him, berating himself for his clumsiness. No matter how much he wants to stay, he can't take the risk of being caught. Besides, he feels like he’s overstepped and betrayed Yuuri’s wishes.

“Forgive me,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t have come at all.”

He shuffles to the exit, the image of Yuuri’s expression imprinted in his mind. Having proof that he isn’t the only one feeling miserable, that Yuuri isn’t alright at all and seems to hate this situation as much as Viktor does, is in no way consolation. How could he rejoice in Yuuri’s sadness? It makes the whole thing all the more ridiculous.

So much for putting things into perspective… They’re both here, so close yet so far, unhappy to be alone and with an obvious solution to remedy it, but Viktor knows Yuuri won’t be the one to make the first step. It’s up to him.

He just doesn’t know how to do it.

A breath of warmth grazes his back and he freezes, his heart racing at the idea that Yuuri may have spotted him in the end.

He slowly turns around, ready to apologise and promise he’s on his way, only to find the large hallway absolutely empty, and the sensation, gone.

He feels foolish. Of course it couldn’t have been Yuuri. There weren’t any footsteps, and in retrospect, it felt nothing like him. Yet Viktor’s brain immediately processed the information that something, or someone was standing near him. The rational part of his brain dismisses it as him needing some sleep, and he steps out of the arena without looking back.

But the sensation comes back as he walks down the pavement, stronger than before. There is a notable change in the air. Presences seem to be swarming around him like an invisible crowd, fleeting yet oppressive. Then an inexplicable sorrow washes over him. He feels so sad… sadder than he’s felt in a long time. He thought he had gotten used to this world and that he was no longer afraid of it, but he’s now filled with a sense of dread similar to the one he felt when he realised that everyone was gone. Something ominous that grips his throat and twists his guts. He quickens his pace, forcing himself to look straight ahead.

When he reaches the middle of the bridge, it all vanishes again, sucking abruptly all his overwhelming feelings out of him and leaving him stunned and breathless.

He slowly turns around, not quite knowing where to direct his gaze. A memory in the shape of a shadow hiding in book aisles creeps back into his mind. He hasn’t really thought about it since that day, but his intuition insists on making a connection. And no matter how much he doesn’t want to, he knows he has to trust it.

That shadow wasn’t a product of his imagination, nor a sign of tiredness. It was real, and so are those presences.

So this is what Yuuri has been enduring all this time. Viktor always said he believed him, but deep down he didn't understand what he actually meant. Until now.

“Why now?” Viktor leans on the bridge fence, the snow covering it dampening his coat sleeves. Why are they going at him only now? What do they want from him, from them? He stares at the frozen river, its icy surface reflecting the sheer whiteness of the sky, as though it could provide him the answer.

In the distance, the rows of docked boats only form blurry coloured dots. Plenty of them are usually sailing at this time of the day, and only now that the river is bare does Viktor realise how much of a common occurence it was. There are so many things, so many small details of his daily life that he only started to pay attention to once they weren’t there anymore.

Viktor’s eyes widen slightly. Maybe it’s that simple. Maybe they’ve been under his nose all along and he hasn't been paying enough attention. All this time he was so focused on Yuuri, on wanting to protect him, on making sure he lacks nothing, on daydreaming about touching and holding and kissing him, on being touched and held and kissed in return, on Yuuri Yuuri Yuuri… that he might have missed the signs. Now that he's alone, though…

“No… It doesn’t make sense. What about the library? Back then, Yuuri and I were still…”

He falls quiet. An explanation, ludicrous yet obvious, flashes through his mind. What if, by believing that Viktor left him, Yuuri had already started to take distances and, unconsciously, to leave Viktor alone?

Then another memory in the shape of words resonates within him. Words said by Yuuri.

_I probably was so eager to believe we’re not alone I just convinced myself that there's something, or someone out there…_

Viktor doesn’t want to believe it. Could being on his own and craving contact really have made him more perceptive? More eager to believe?

He rests his face on his crossed arms, his stare now vacant.

Has Yuuri been feeling that lonely?

Is _he_ feeling that lonely?

A sudden lightheadedness takes over Viktor. Goosebumps run along his skin, and his muscles twitch, like small spasms. He steps back from the fence, but his feet miss the edge of the pavement and he stumbles before falling down on his back with a cry of surprise. The thick layer of snow thankfully cushions his fall, yet he can’t repress a little grimace of pain.

A bit stunned, he doesn’t get back up, even though the sensation has vanished as fast as it came. He’s stopped feeling unwell almost instantly, and this is perhaps what worries him the most because he's certain it wasn’t just a case of momentary weakness.

It’s as if something… or someone passed right through him. It is the closest comparison that comes to his mind, but the more he thinks about it, the more he believes he might have hit the nail on the head.

He doesn’t have the energy to be shocked anymore. He just feels strangely resigned. Like a ragdoll, he remains lying in the snow looking at the weatherless sky, despite the cold soaking his hair and penetrating his coat. Last time he did this, he was still a kid, making snow angels in the garden while his mum urged him to get back in before catching death.

A light lopsided smile appears on his lips. “Oi. That wasn’t very nice,” he tells the sky. “I could’ve hurt myself.”

He pauses, as though waiting for an answer, then frowns innocently.

“Hm? It’s my fault that I fell? Hey, you’re the one sending us ghosts. Or whatever they are.” He intertwines his hands over his chest and crosses one leg over the other in a more nonchalant posture. “What for, by the way? What are you trying to accomplish exactly?”

Despite his fear and confusion, he does his best to sound as bold and defiant as that day on the rooftops, when he first spoke to the world directly.

“Maybe it’s time you send us a clear sign, don’t you think? If you can make everyone disappear, surely you have the power to do that. I think we have a right to know why we had to forcibly say goodbye to everything in our lives…”

He shoots the sky his most charming smile.

“Unless you don’t know what you’re doing.”

The barb doesn’t ignite any kind of response. Not that Viktor expected one. Still, he can’t help feeling a bit offended.

“Wow,” he scoffs. “You really don’t want to help me, do you.”

Tired from having to act defiant, his smile fades.

“Do you think so too?” he says, his voice sounding more vulnerable. “That I'm lonely?”

He tilts his head to the side. He can almost imagine Yuuri lying by him in the snow, with his blue scarf and his foggy glasses and his lovely nose reddened by the cold, warmly lacing their fingers together to encourage him to talk. He remembers how understanding and empathetic Yuuri was when Viktor told him about his lack of real friends and his not being keen on social events. It was the first time he’s ever admitted it out loud, so it was a major step for him.

Still…

“I'm not lonely. I'm solitary, that's different…”

Viktor’s fingers suddenly feel cold again.

It has been his lifelong leitmotiv. According to him, solitude carries the idea of choice: choosing to draw strength on his own rather than from others' company, choosing to have time for himself, choosing to reach out to people if and when he wants, wanted to. It implies that he’s got control over his social life, or lack thereof.

Loneliness, on the other hand, is neither a choice nor a temporary state. It's inflicted upon you, and being surrounded by dozens of people won’t make a difference.

Viktor turns back to the sky.

“I mean it. I never really minded not having a huge group of friends or a wild social life. I’ve always been far too busy for that. Others seem to manage though, Mila, Chris… I wonder how they do that.”

He goes on and on, even though there is no one out there to convince of anything.

“It's not like it would change anything at the moment anyway, since none of them would be here. All in all, my life isn’t that different… Well, beside the fact that I don’t have Makkachin with me. And that I don’t work anymore. And…”

His mind goes blank. What was his former life like? What else did he use to do? Has it really been that long since it all began? There has to be more, there has to--

Right. Public fan events, of course. There were many of them, in places overcrowded with people who came from every corner of Russia, from abroad even, specially to see him. People who would shed tears for him, who would scream whenever he winked or blew kisses, who genuinely loved him in their own way, and to whom Viktor did his best to return the kindness with warm gazes, long handshakes, words of encouragement. He would do exactly what they expected of him and more, and he excelled at it. He liked those events better than banquets or official meet-ups with fellow skaters, because he felt like people actually wanted him there. Like he made a difference in their day.

And yet… He’d still find a way to feel remote and inadequate at his own party, floating among people without ever managing to mingle. Conversations were all about him, but no one was really talking _to_ him.

Of course he’s always known, deep down, that he wasn’t being honest with himself. That he rejected the word loneliness for a very simple reason. Its connotations would have forced him to recognise that feeling disconnected and dissatisfied weren't mere introvert traits and unalterable parts of his life. Introversion doesn't inherently means loneliness, and hiding behind labels just because they sound more palatable to him, never mind that they fit or not, cannot change the hard truth.

He can't admit it out loud, though. Not in these conditions. Not when the one person who would understand isn't around.

“Fine. Maybe I didn’t _choose_ to be alone right now.” If he weren’t lying down, he would shrug in an affected manner. “I grant you that. But you know what? Neither did Yuuri. He’s afraid, and I can’t blame him. I’ll never blame him for anything. He's just doing the best he can in this chaos that _you_ caused. It’s all your fault. You’re the one who took everything from us. My dog, his family, our projects. You’re the one who’s been playing with our lives, who’s locked us together in some other dimension, who’s made us grow closer only to keep us apart. You… you gave me a taste of happiness only to rob it away from me. It’s…”

Without realising, he’s been talking faster and faster. There is so much he wants to say, but he's lost on words, too astounded at the sheer absurdity of it all. He remains silent, unable to pinpoint what he feels anymore. Then, still unmoving in his Viktor-shaped imprint, he bursts into laughter – an irrepressible, joyless one that invades him wholly, a laughter probably loud enough to resonate throughout the entire city.

“It makes no sense," he hiccups, covering his face with his hands. “None of it does.”

His throat feels sore, his belly aches. His laughter dies. He takes a few deep breaths and drops his hands, revealing a serious and tired expression.

“Is that what it was all about? Making me admit that I’m lonely?”

He finally removes himself from his snow imprint.

“Because in that case, I have a question for you…” He stands back up, dusts snow off the back of his coat and rearranges his damp hair. “Why didn’t you just leave me alone altogether? Why did you have to drag Yuuri into this?”

He looks at the horizon above the bridge with a faint smile, clenching his fists.

“He doesn’t deserve that. He’s done nothing wrong. All he wanted was to keep skating and live his life. How… How dare you take that away from him.”

Another question enters Viktor's mind. Why Yuuri, and not somebody else?

Viktor starts pacing around the bridge. He once thought about the possibility of a special bond between them. He doesn't really know what to think about it, but the fact is that he's never developed such ardent feelings for anyone before, especially in such a short time. It's not like him. By entering Viktor’s life, Yuuri insufflated in it all the joy and love and passion that he had always been yearning for. For the first time, Viktor could picture himself sharing a future with someone else, even in an empty world. Would he have felt the same, had it been another person?

The answer is clear: absolutely not. Yuuri is unique, and Viktor could sing his praises, in and out of order, until his voice breaks. He is so strong and resilient, physically and morally. He has the soul of a fighter while having the softest heart. He is a marvellous skater, even when he feels too insecure to accomplish what he’s capable of. His love for dogs easily rivals Viktor’s. His laugh alone could heal the world. He smells good. Even at six before his morning tea, he looks ethereal. Every part of his body, his tender eyes, his silky hair, his gentle hands…

Viktor stops pacing, a shaky sigh coming out of his lips. He lowers his head in defeat.

“I give up. I can’t understand what you are, why we’re here, how to leave or if it’s even possible. All the books in the country couldn't help. But you know what I can do?”

His face softens.

“Anything for him. If at least staying away from me had brought him some peace…” Another sigh. “I would’ve left him be. But he’s unhappy, so I can’t stand by and watch him suffer. I might not have the power to bring him back to his former life, but protecting him from loneliness… that, I can do.”

A surge of defiant energy courses in his veins. Facing the river, he addresses the world for what he knows is the last time:

“You’ll see.”

He gives a mock salute with his fingers then turns around to head home with a serene smile, still waving, determined to ignore all presences that might come his way. _Keep your mysteries and your ghosts to yourself,_ he thinks.

From the other side of the bridge, unbeknownst to him, a silhouette carrying a sports bag and dressed in a beige coat and black sneakers watches over him as he leaves.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor has a plan to reconnect with Yuuri. All he has to do is follow through with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, I know it's been a while! Hope you've been doing good. I'm sorry, life has been pretty hectic, I had to take a month-long break in my writing and it got a bit difficult to resume where I stopped, as it has been the most complex chapter I've had to write, and on top of everything I started an internship that took a lot of my time and energy. As an apology, I am pleased to offer you this long chapter that I've been working on for a long, very long time, longer than I want to remember haha. I put my whole heart into it, and I truly hope I made it worth the wait. This chapter is also the second to last, the conclusion is imminent (aaaaaah) so please enjoy it and as usual don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts :D I'm off to replying to all your sweet comments now!!

Viktor wipes his hands on his ‘Kiss the cook’ apron, then removes a potato peel that got stuck to the cartoon poodle in a chef hat printed on it. The pickled cucumbers steep in brine. The fish broth stews in a separate pot. The vegetables are sliced and grated, ready to go through the saucepan. Next… Right, he needs to brown the onions.

Pressure’s on. He only cooked solyanka once and it was decent, but nearly not as tasty as the restaurant’s. Besides, he cooked it with beef back then, not fish. Maybe it would’ve been a wiser choice to go with something he’s tried before, but Yuuri loves fish and what he likes comes before the easiest option. While Viktor tries to keep in mind that Yuuri has no basis for comparison, it doesn’t make him any less nervous. It has to be undoubtedly delicious and flawless, not just ‘decent’. More importantly, it has to be done before Yuuri comes back, and there’s still a lot of work to do.

Obviously, no note on the fridge telling where Yuuri has gone and for how long. Never mind. As long as everything is ready in time, it’s all fine. Viktor will wait.

Something changed within him yesterday, back on the bridge. He felt confident, determined, even though he still had no idea how to approach Yuuri. It only came to him a few hours ago, after brainstorming all night and day. He was quite happy with his idea at first, but he’s been gradually assailed by doubts. Isn’t it a bit of a cowardly move, luring Yuuri with food?

He tosses the onions in the pan, drowning his mind’s noise into the sizzling of the oil. First off, he promised he’d cook solyanka someday, and secondly, even someone who isn’t the food enthusiast that he and Yuuri are can only handle so many days with ready-to-eat meals. Above all else, the food is a pretext, or rather an invitation. If Viktor wants to demonstrate that taking distance is – with all due respect – a rubbish idea, that it makes them both miserable and that they need to stay united whether or not there is a way back to the real world, he has to do things right.

And what’s a better way to reconnect with each other than by reconnecting with their old habits, a nice table with perhaps music, a good meal to savour… and a proper discussion?

Viktor adds the garlic and stirs for a moment, pensive, before covering the pan. It’s not exactly a calculated plan. It’s just the best he’s got.

He checks the time. So far, everything’s been going smoothly and he’s proud of his effectiveness, until he realises he hasn’t started setting up the table at all. In two strides, he reaches the dish cabinet.

It isn’t just about the meal: the table too must look impeccable. Not just because there’s a chance the food won’t be ready in time and that if the table is decorated, Yuuri will see through Viktor’s intentions anyway. It’s also because Viktor can’t put so much effort into a meal only to serve it with mismatched cutlery and bland, scratched plates that he uses every day. He wants something elegant and welcoming.

How about the blue, finely painted china plates that his mum gave him when he moved in? Blue is Yuuri’s favourite colour. The problem is, since Viktor never uses them, they’re at the deep end of the cupboard and he has to remove all his regular plates, bowls and glasses to reach them. Oh right, the glasses. What should he pick? Champagne flutes? Wine glasses? He picks up one of the ugly, regular water glasses that he just took out of the cupboard, inspects it… and places it back. No way he can use those. On the other hand, picking alcohol glasses might add unwelcome pressure on Yuuri, and Viktor doesn’t need that. Is it weird to serve water in flutes? What will Yuuri even want to drink? Maybe Viktor should wait until the last minute and ask him, but it doesn’t feel right to have an incomplete table…

In the meantime, he decides to focus on decoration instead. Earlier, he took out his tablecloths and piled them up on the couch so he could pick one. He forgot he owned that many, another housewarming gift from his mum… He unfolds a few as a test, but he isn’t even sure he’s going to use one. It might be over the top – elegant, indeed, but maybe too romantic and therefore likely to scare Yuuri off. Some pretty placemats will do, and a few candles… Oh no, bad idea, Yuuri will definitely misinterpret those as well…

Who is Viktor trying to fool? He could make it look like a fast food table and there would still be no way to interpret this dinner as platonic. He has a speech ready and he blushes just thinking about it. He rehearsed it a bit, but once he’ll be in front of Yuuri, he doesn’t know how he’ll find the courage to deliver it. To tell him…

A worrying burning smell wafts through the air, forcing him out of his thinking. He turns to the kitchen in horror. No way. He didn’t just make that rookie mistake.

He rushes back to the stove, lifts the lid and a cloud of smoke blows in his face, making him cough. The onions and garlic are completely charred. He takes a piece out to eat it. It almost tastes like charcoal. It’s inedible.

He tries to scratch them out, letting out some rare curses, but half of them remain stuck to the pan. He throws it into the sink, discouraged. The heat wasn’t even that strong. How could he have gotten so distracted? He doesn’t have any onion nor garlic clove left. The only solution would be to go out and pick some more, but he’ll waste some precious time and he might even miss Yuuri coming back. If he goes straight to his room, it will all have been for nothing.

Usually, Viktor would’ve thought, ‘Never mind, they aren’t vital ingredients’. He would’ve pulled himself together and found a plan B. He would’ve kept going. Right now though, he simply looks at the pots on the stove and the discarded pan in the sink as the last drops of motivation he had left evaporate away.

Either way, it will have been for nothing.

‘Being apart makes them both miserable’? ‘They need to stay united’? Who does Viktor think he is, deciding on Yuuri’s feelings and distorting the truth just so it tallies with what _he_ wants? Yuuri won’t care about this meal. He won’t care that Viktor made it just for him, he won’t care about the time Viktor devoted to it. He won’t care because he doesn’t want a Russian speciality. He wants to eat some Detroit dishes, whatever they are, with his friends. Or a typical Hasetsu meal, surrounded by his family. And Viktor can’t give him any of that. All he can give is his presence, which Yuuri didn’t ask for, and a soup he can’t even cook right.

Who knows if Yuuri will come back home tonight anyway. He’s stuck in Russia, that’s for sure, but he could very well find some hotel room to break into, here or in another city. They kept the stolen car after all. With the right motivation, there are so many solutions for him to stay away from Viktor.

He needs to stop harbouring illusions. They will never be together. Sooner or later, Yuuri will leave for good.

This thought is the last straw. Viktor turns off the stoves and unties his apron. It looks like a cape on backwards, without anything heroic. He takes it off and lets it fall to the floor. Immediately after, the rumpled navy blue fabric at his feet becomes blurry.

Who cares if he cries? No one can see him, and it won’t change anytime soon. The mask has no reason to exist. He might as well let it melt under his tears, and rip the remnants into pieces.

He, too, lets himself fall to the floor.

He didn’t think that, at twenty-six, he would find himself curled into a ball against his sink unit, with his knees drawn to his chest and crying his heart out like a child. These aren’t the soft, silent, socially acceptable tears he only ever allowed himself to shed. He sobs for endless minutes, his face in his hands, the uncontrollable wailing burning his throat. All the emotions he has repressed in the last few days, weeks, he doesn’t know anymore – he pours them out with no barrier.

A jingling noise of something hitting the floor shuts him up instantly. He realises that the worst is happening.

There, in the doorway, keys at his feet and looking completely taken aback, is Yuuri.

Of course. Of course he would come back the moment Viktor is falling apart.

That’s a lie. He had begun to fall apart long before now. Come to think of it, his sudden and inappropriate fit of laughter yesterday should’ve been a clear sign. Tonight is just the culmination of a slow process.

Viktor drops his head onto his knees, clenching his eyes shut and desperately trying to get the image of Yuuri – standing there carrying bags full of groceries, more single-serve meals probably – out of his mind. The rapid heartbeat thudding in his ears makes everything too quiet.

_Please don’t look at me._

_Please don’t ignore me._

Something else hits the floor, and silence is shattered. What comes next are footsteps quickly approaching and a hesitant touch on Viktor’s shoulder. He tenses for a split second before slumping, his arms falling down sluggishly.

“…tor? Oh no-- Viktor, can you hear me?”

Viktor can’t find it in him to reply. He does hear Yuuri, the touch of panic in his voice, but he sounds distant. Viktor nods nonetheless, keeping his head down. He must look childish. Warm, gentle fingers linger on his arm.

“O-okay. Good. Take your time to breathe. In… and out. That’s it. Keep going.”

Viktor obeys, even if he feels ridiculous taking such long, exaggerated breaths. He’s been avoiding Yuuri’s gaze out of shame and fear of what he’ll see, but he can’t resist the temptation. Yuuri looks blurry through the tears. He’s scanning Viktor’s face, his expression a mixture of worry and powerlessness. He was never supposed to see that, to see Viktor so weak and ugly and unworthy.

Viktor clenches his teeth, his body shaking with another sob. Even something as simple as breathing, he can’t do properly. Yuuri holds him by the shoulders, grounding him.

“I know… I know it’s not easy. Take your time.”

Viktor shakes his head. Yuuri mentioned his anxiety before and how it can cause him to have panic attacks, but a bout of crying that only started because he burnt some onions is nowhere near comparable. He feels even more pathetic.

“Do you want some water…?”

Viktor doesn’t feel like ingesting anything, but Yuuri has already stood up. He grabs one of the many glasses on the counter, not commenting on the strange mess of tableware scattered over it. Viktor wonders what he must be thinking.

The tap opens and soon there’s a full glass of water right under his nose. Yuuri lets Viktor take it without forcing him, but his hand remains close in case Viktor doesn’t have enough strength to hold it. He whispers something about how he needs to stay hydrated, how it’ll do him some good. Viktor distantly remembers this morning in Sochi, when he was taking care of a hungover Yuuri. He must have felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and so confused as to why Viktor was with him. Exactly like Viktor is feeling right now.

Why is Yuuri staying with him? Why does he act so gentle and caring and like he’s genuinely worried? Viktor can’t allow himself to hope. It’s probably only pity. He’ll wait until Viktor calms down then go back to avoiding him and they’ll never get a chance to talk.

The water helps a bit, but the tears come back. They roll down his face on their own without him being able to stop them. He’s so drained he doesn’t even have energy left to sob.

“Uh… You could sit somewhere more comfortable, yeah?” Yuuri tentatively suggests, lifting Viktor’s hand. “Can you get up?”

Viktor sniffles gracelessly and clenches his hand around Yuuri’s. His grip isn’t strong enough to pull himself up, though, so Yuuri wraps his arm around Viktor’s back and secures him as he helps him up. Viktor clings onto this warm contact with the few strength he has left. As they step around the kitchen island, he sees by the door the bags Yuuri was holding when he came in. This explains the noise from earlier. One of them fell on a weird angle and its contents are poking out of it. A bottle of cream and cornflour? What does Yuuri ever intend to do with it?

Yuuri first leads him to the couch, and lets out a little laugh at the mess of tablecloths covering it. “Okay, not the couch.”

Soon, without him really paying attention, Viktor finds himself in the conservatory bathed in the rosy lights, staring at the black sky from the seat he’s lying down on.

After a blank, he realises that Yuuri is no longer by his side. He bolts up, as if he’s waking up from a dream. He called it, it was too good to be true. But Yuuri soon reappears with a very familiar item in his hands.

The Makkachin tissue box, which he puts on the armrest for Viktor to help himself.

Viktor wipes his eyes and blows his nose as soundlessly as he can. He’s embarrassed enough to do that in front of Yuuri, he’ll spare him the gross noises.

He shivers from the cold floating in the conservatory. Or maybe it’s just his body temperature. Yuuri kneels by him and offers to get him a blanket. Viktor shakes his head no, even though it’s stupid to turn it down. Why does he keep holding onto his pride now that Yuuri saw him like this? It can’t possibly be worse. Yuuri keeps enquiring about what he might need. He’s asked Viktor many questions since he came in, but not once ‘Why are you crying?’. Perhaps because, deep down, he already knows why. Come to think of it, despite his initial shock, Yuuri doesn’t seem surprised to see Viktor like this.

Yuuri swallows. “Would you… rather me to leave you alone?”

Viktor’s fingers grab the sleeve of the winter coat that Yuuri didn’t even take the time to remove.

“Okay, okay,” Yuuri murmurs, clutching Viktor’s hand. “If that’s what you want, I’m staying.”

It was instinctive. Viktor didn’t mean to hang onto him. He thought he would hate being around anyone when he’s crying as much as he does when he’s hungover, maybe more. Yet here he is, in all his weakness, holding onto Yuuri. There goes his pride.

He shouldn't forget that Yuuri doesn’t really want to stay, that he only feels like he has to because he witnessed something he wasn’t meant to. Viktor can’t bear the idea of being a burden, of keeping him against his will. He slowly lets go of his sleeve.

Yuuri lets go of his hand, too.

Then proceeds to take off his coat, drop it to the floor and lie down, nestled in the narrow space between Viktor and the armchair. He wraps his arm around Viktor’s belly, stroking his hip lightly, and rests his head on his shoulder.

Viktor doesn’t think twice. His arms circle Yuuri in return, tightening their embrace. The lenses of Yuuri’s glasses are cold against Viktor’s skin as he buries his face in his neck. Viktor cups the back of his head to keep him close while his other hand grips the back of his sweater.

It’s surreal. Only a few minutes ago, Viktor was sitting alone on the cold tiles of his kitchen, and now he and Yuuri are lying down on the same chair, under the starless sky, holding each other for the first time in an eternity. His warmth, his perfume… Viktor had almost forgotten what they felt like. The longer it lasts, the more scared he is to see it end.

It doesn’t end.

Their embrace isn’t still. Viktor’s feet rub against Yuuri’s calves, Yuuri’s hands stroke Viktor’s back in slow circles, and their bodies move against one another in the process, ever so slightly, as if to soak up more warmth and get closer, always closer. Feeling Yuuri’s breath against his skin, Viktor has his first positive thought in a long time: maybe Yuuri has missed Viktor just as much as Viktor has missed him.

Part of Viktor doesn’t want to understand what’s happening. Yuuri’s whole attention is on him and it’s delicious. He’s afraid that if he says a word, if he does so much as loosen his arms, Yuuri will slip away. He’s longed for it so deeply that he cannot shatter the moment. On the other hand… They can’t keep on like this, with so many maybes, so much unspoken between them. They need to talk and leave no room for interpretation.

“Yuuri… What are we doing?”

His voice is barely audible, but at least now he can form more or less coherent sentences.

“I thought we were supposed… that you wanted… I mean-- What happened to taking distance?”

“No,” is the only reply that Viktor gets for a moment. Yuuri keeps shaking his head, his cheek rubbing against Viktor’s shoulder. “I never ‘wanted’ it. I never wanted any of that…”

“But…”

“I know it was my idea. And I hated every second of it.”

He straightens up, sitting by Viktor’s legs, and Viktor’s heart shatters at the sight of his shimmering eyes.

“I hated asking you this,” Yuuri continues, “I hated avoiding you, I hated pretending I didn’t see you weren’t doing well.” His gaze is swimming in compassion and worry. “ I saw you on the bridge, you know. You were talking. I had no idea what you were saying but… you weren’t okay.”

Viktor freezes. No one should’ve seen this. No one. He thanks the currently absent stars that Yuuri doesn’t speak Russian. Even he doesn’t remember everything he said back there and he’s not sure he wants to.

“It was meaningless,” he mutters.

“I don’t believe you.”

Yuuri and his disarming frankness. Thankfully, he doesn’t insist.

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this. The goal really wasn’t to hurt you. I… I know it’s easy to say and that it doesn’t change the fact that I hurt you but I… sorry, give me a minute…”

Raising his eyes, he follows his own advice and takes a long, shaky breath. He looks like he could cry any second now. Viktor reaches out to stroke his cheek, but Yuuri stops the move by catching his hand with a pained smile.

“No, don’t. I’m not the one who needs to be comforted right now.”

He holds Viktor’s hand in both of his, keeping it against his chest.

“I explained myself really poorly back then, didn’t I? And I didn’t give you much of a chance to tell me what you truly wanted.”

_You did,_ Viktor thinks. _I’m the one who didn’t seize it._

“I knew you’d hate this idea as much as I would, but I also knew… or rather, I was ninety-eight percent sure you wouldn’t disagree. Or maybe I just strongly hoped you wouldn’t.”

Viktor frowns in confusion. What is Yuuri trying to say?

“At the time I really believed it was the right thing to do. Then, seeing how it was affecting you… I started feeling so guilty. I wanted to fix it. Try to, at least. I wanted to come to you on the bridge, but I didn’t dare. I wasn’t sure what to say, and… somehow I was a bit afraid of your reaction. Instead I decided to wait a day so I had time to get prepared and everything. And when I saw you in the kitchen…” His voice cracks a bit. “I thought maybe it was too late. By the way, I’m sorry if I’ve been awkward earlier, I’m not used to comforting others. Even less when it’s my fault…”

“Wait, wait, I don’t get it.” Viktor presses his hand closer to Yuuri’s chest. He has too many questions. “If you didn’t want to stay away from me, why did you suggest it in the first place? Why did you hope I would agree to this? And if you knew I didn’t want it either, why did you wait so long to come back to me?”

He tilts his head in an attempt to meet Yuuri’s eyes.

“I’m not angry. I’m not trying to blame you. I just need to understand. Did you think I was going to reject you?”

Yuuri shakes his head and slowly drops Viktor’s hand, his trembling lips forming a self-deprecating smile.

“It’s not exactly that I _hoped_ you’d disagree… I wanted to soothe your shoulders from the weight of my presence. I know it sounds like I’m trying to pass it off as some selfless act but…” Tears are welling up in his eyes and, inexplicably, in Viktor’s too. “I take up all your space, I use your clothes and everything else you own, I get panicked when you leave… You offered me to stay out of kindness because I had nowhere else to go, but who would want a guest like that? And for how long?”

He delivered his speech at top speed. Viktor blinks away the tears that blur his vision, and as they roll down his cheeks, everything becomes clear. Yuuri's behaviour, his seeming disregard… They all take on a whole new meaning. He brushes Yuuri's chin with his fingers, lifting his head in a light touch.

“Yuuri, don’t tell me you’ve been feeling that way all along?”

Yuuri seems hesitant to answer.

“Yuuri!” Viktor’s tone is almost desperate.

“No! I mean… I used to at the beginning. Then it got better. It felt so good to spend time with you, it was like a dream, and you really made me feel like I was welcome. Then the whole library thing happened and…”

Getting flustered at the memory, Yuuri grabs the Makkachin box so he has something to fiddle with.

“To be honest, I also took distance for my sake. I was so ashamed of myself, and the idea that you could think of me as a burden, or that you could become sick of me… I couldn’t handle it.”

Viktor was aware that Yuuri had a tendency to self-sabotage, but he didn’t think he’d ever be at the direct receiving end of it, especially not in such a spectacular way.

“You make a lot of assumptions, don’t you,” he points out fondly, holding Yuuri by the shoulders. “How many times do I have to say it till you finally believe me, hm? I didn’t invite you to stay because there was no other choice, but because I wanted to. If I didn’t like or care about you, why would I have let you come into my home? Into my life?”

Hugging the Makkachin box to himself, Yuuri offers him a soft smile. “You have a big heart. You wouldn’t let anyone in need left to their own devices.”

Viktor sighs and lies back down on his side, his eyes unfocused. “I’m not as selfless as you think I am. I treat my personal space very carefully. I only let in the people I trust and feel safe with, and there aren’t that many. If you weren’t one of them, empty world or not, I wouldn’t have forced myself to give you my spare room, or lend you clothes, eat with you, take walks, laugh, skate and dance with you, set up a new routine for us…. I would’ve come up with dozens of solutions to not have to do any of these things.”

“Then why me? How could you be so accepting of me, so quickly? You barely knew me.”

Yuuri is not entirely wrong. Even just in the men category, there are too many skaters to keep track of everybody, especially those who, like Yuuri, are late bloomers competition-wise and not very active on social media. Up until this year, Viktor considered him a quiet skater with a great potential, nothing more. Then came the GPF, and it was an endless stream of amazement and confusion.

One moment, Viktor caught Yuuri stealing fond glances at him during warm-up; the next, Yuuri turned his back on his commemorative picture suggestion. It left him disoriented. Did Yuuri like him? Hate him? Not care about him? And what about him? What were his feelings for Yuuri? He didn’t know which foot to dance on, until Yuuri took his hand and dragged him into a fiery tango in full view of the elite of figure skating. And things became clear, clearer than they have in years.

Yuuri has treasures inside of him, and what Viktor saw the night of the banquet was only a glimpse of them. Day after day, he got to unveil them, but something tells him that an entire life wouldn’t be enough to discover them all.

It kills him that Yuuri doesn’t see himself the way Viktor does.

“You have no idea, do you. After all we went through…” Viktor rests the Makkachin box back on the armchair and gently enjoins Yuuri to lie back down so they can be face-to-face. “You are an extraordinary human being, Yuuri Katsuki. I see it, always, even when you can’t. You have no idea how much you’ve given me just by staying close to me.”

Yuuri looks at him like he started speaking in an old Japanese dialect, his mouth adorably agape. The speech Viktor prepared comes back to him in bits and pieces, completely destructured. He forgot so many elements, but he doesn’t mind too much. It’ll leave more room for spontaneity, which is what they need right now. Never mind that it’s messy as long as the final result is the same.

“Look, I know I can be overwhelming when it comes to feelings. I easily get carried away and tend to forget others might not see things the way I do. That's why…”

It’s hard to tell, but he can’t keep the matter silent.

“When you said that we couldn’t let our lives revolve around each other, it was a shock to me. It shouldn’t have been though, because you had a point, but--”

“No, wait, I know what you're thinking but it’s not like that, I regretted it as soon as I said it,” Yuuri laments. “It came out totally wrong and I could see you misinterpreted it but it was too late to take it back.”

Viktor’s face lightens up. Hope expands in his chest, and this time he doesn’t fight it.

“Then can you explain what you meant?” he intertwines their fingers and rests their joined hands between the small space separating their bodies. “Please?”

“Well… Here and now, we’re all we have, and that scares me. I can’t become your world. That wouldn’t be fair. You didn’t ask for it. You deserve so much better than that. You deserve to be surrounded by dozens, hundreds, thousands people who love you.”

Viktor can’t not see the allusion to the song they danced to. ‘You are my world’... How many lovers through centuries, in fiction and reality, have exchanged those words? Their poetic charm is rooted into hyperbole, no one has ever meant them in the literal sense. They cannot imagine what it really entails. And even in its metaphorical sense, as romantic as it sounds, it’s also terrifying. Once the person you’ve pinned everything on, your hopes and wishes, your love and desires – once this person is gone, what do you have left?

“Remember when we were shouting from the rooftop?” Yuuri asks, and Viktor’s heart starts pounding instantly at the memory. “Well, what I said that day… Damn, I thought I’d never have to tell you. Basically, I said that I would do everything in my power to free you. Us.”

“…Really?”

“My wish was to bring you back to the real world. To your career, your life, everything.”

His career. It sounds foreign to Viktor’s ears now. He’s been so caught up in his role as a substitute coach, his desire to free Yuuri, his blooming feelings for him that he stopped seeing it as a priority. His daily life has been thoroughly disrupted since he stopped training officially, and yet, oddly enough… he doesn't miss it as much as he should.

“So I tried. Every day. Problem is, ‘everything in my power’ means ‘almost nothing’. Even if I had a plan, and I don’t, I couldn’t do anything on my own.”

“You don’t have to face this on your own. Neither do I. In fact, I think this whole thing proved that we shouldn’t.” Viktor holds Yuuri’s fingers tighter. “We’ve both been doing exactly the same thing, making assumptions about what the other wants, and trying to play the hero each on our own.”

Yuuri chuckles nervously. “We’ve both been stupid.”

“I don’t want you to think less of me but… My career is not the most important thing to me.” Viktor smiles. “Not anymore. I threw myself into it because I had nothing else for the longest time, or so I thought. The truth is that I completely neglected what could have made my world so much richer and happier.”

Viktor gathers his words. At least for this part, he has to make it right.

“We all have a whole world inside of us. Sometimes we have the desire to enter somebody else’s, find our place in it, and let them enter ours in return. Not because we feel our world is incomplete, but just because it would be even better with them in it.”

He pulls Yuuri closer, their foreheads touching. 

“What matters to me the most now,” he whispers, “is you. Your world, all the wonders in it, its imperfections, everything. And I probably turned out to be different than the Viktor Nikiforov you imagined, but when you look at me, I feel like you see my world as what it really is. You reminded me over and over that I didn’t need to pretend around you. You saw me at my worst… and you’re still here.” He closes his eyes. “I don't care about having many people in my life. I’d value one person who loves me for who I am above thousands I’d put on an act with. So please, Yuuri, I know it’s scary but… don’t reject me. I’m not asking you to lay your whole heart in my hands. Just allow me to hold it with you.”

“Viktor…” Yuuri’s voice quavers as his eyes fill up with fat tears slightly magnified by his glasses. Viktor contorts a bit to grab a tissue and offers it to Yuuri.

“If you cry, I’m going to cry again too,” he warns gently.

“That’s not fair, you can’t say things like this and expect me to…” Yuuri stifles a sob that turns into a giggle.

Viktor’s face turns serious. His mouth is dry, his voice hoarse and his eyes sting, but it’s now or never. 

“I made a wish too, on the rooftop.”

Laying his palm on his cheek, he strokes Yuuri’s lower lip with his thumb. Yuuri doesn’t recoil, doesn’t move an inch. There is no trace of surprise or disapproval on his face, only a fixed, expectant gaze.

“Yuuri…”

Yuuri mirrors his gesture, flushing a crimson that deepens as seconds go by, and Viktor’s cheeks feel so hot that it’s safe to assume he looks the same.

“Yes,” Yuuri whispers in reply to his wordless question. “Please.”

It’s a mere brush of lips at first, softer than a caress. Viktor peppers kisses along Yuuri’s lip line, almost soundlessly, taking his sweet time to taste them. Yuuri leans in and presses their mouths together once, twice before letting go. Their breaths intertwine, only a few millimeters separating them, then Yuuri goes down to Viktor’s neck, making him gasp in surprise. His pulse is throbbing under Yuuri’s mouth. As the tip of his tongue presses against his skin, a spike of warmth prickles Viktor. He holds the back of Yuuri’s head in a silent request. _Don't stop._

Yuuri shivers as he feels Viktor’s hot breath in his ear. He circles his arms around his neck and their mouths meet again in a kiss that is no longer tentative. It's intense, frantic, interspersed with sighs. Their lips seem to respond to each other, knowing instinctively how to move. No more testing the waters, they take the plunge together and delightfully drown in the feeling. Overcome with bliss, Viktor closes his eyes and just lets go, allowing himself to feel nothing else but Yuuri. His sweet tongue, his intoxicating scent, his soft lips. Just him. Just… Yuu…

…

…

A shrill noise makes Viktor's heart jump out of his chest. His body jerks up, which earns a small cry of surprise from Yuuri who’s lying on top of him. Viktor feels disoriented, like he’s missing something. They were kissing, and then… what happened?

“I, uh… I think it was your egg timer.” Yuuri giggles, straightening up to arrange his lopsided glasses. “Haha… That was a rather brutal awakening, wasn't it?”

“Awakening?” Viktor echoes. “No… Don’t tell me I fell asleep?”

“You just closed your eyes for a couple of minutes.”

Viktor pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I’m so sorry. You should’ve woken me up…”

“Don’t be. You’re allowed to rest, crying is draining.”

Viktor can only describe Yuuri’s smile as angelic. He feels undeserving of such kindness and compassion when he had the nerve to fall asleep mid-kissing like a student bored in maths class. They stay here, absorbed in each other’s gaze. Viktor should say something, mention what just happened between them, but nothing comes to him. Then Yuuri snaps out of it and reluctantly gets off of Viktor, blushing with confusion.

“That said… you were cooking before I came in, weren’t you? You should probably check it out.”

Still groggy from his impromptu nap, Viktor tries to remember. That’s right, he set up the timer for his brine and broth and completely forgot to turn it off along with everything else.

“No, really,” Yuuri insists since Viktor doesn’t move an inch, “something might burn or…”

“It’s all safe. Nothing’s cooking right now.”

The problem is, even if he's lost motivation and that all he wants is to resume where he and Yuuri left off, he can’t leave all this food lying around. He’ll have to do something with it eventually. Besides, he’s getting a bit hungry.

“But you started making something.” Yuuri smiles encouragingly. “What was it?”

Viktor sighs. Oh, what the hell.

“I was making solyanka.”

Yuuri’s eyes sparkle at the familiar word. “The spicy soup? What’s in it again? Hold on, let me remember what you told me… Pickled cucumbers, potatoes, tomatoes…”

Viktor nods and continues, deadpan, “Paprika, charred onions, a few tears probably…”

Yuuri laughs without a trace of mockery. “Maybe they have magical properties. Like phoenix’s tears.” He cups the side of Viktor’s neck and puts his lips on his tear-smeared cheek, a feather-light touch not quite like a kiss. “Sounds very good.”

Viktor isn’t sure if he’s talking about the soup or his tears, if he’s teasing or just being nice. He doesn’t really care. He just wants to drink in Yuuri’s compliments.

“Isn’t there fish too? I thought I could smell fish.”

Viktor nods. “Salmon and zander. I thought you’d like it.”

Understanding dawns on Yuuri’s face and he looks at Viktor like he’s never seen anything more precious.

“You were making it for me?”

“I promised, remember? I wanted to break the ice. But nothing is ready and I suppose you already have dinner plans, so…”

Viktor bites his lip as he realises how much it sounds like provocation. 

“What? Not at all. Why?”

With his chin, Viktor points in the doorway’s general direction. The grocery bags aren’t visible from here, but Yuuri immediately knows what he refers to.

“Ooh… I didn’t get food for myself. Not this time.” He rests his hands on each side of Viktor’s neck and rubs their noses together before dropping a kiss on the tip of Viktor’s. “I got ingredients for a cake.”

“A cake?”

Hence the cream and cornflour. Viktor is surprised, though. He didn’t know Yuuri baked. 

“You’re not the only one who wanted to break the ice.” Yuuri tilts his head with a soft smile. “Do you know what day it is today?”

“Uh… No idea, I lost track ages ago.”

“I have no idea either. That’s the problem.”

Viktor can sense his embarrassment through his mysterious tone.

“I did everything I could to keep track of the days, but it became too difficult without my phone or the TV or anything else. Still, I'd bet that December 25th has passed. And even if it hasn’t…” Yuuri replaces an unruly lock on Viktor’s head. “You told me it’s not Christmas day in Russia, but you still deserve a proper birthday celebration.”

His birthday… another thing Viktor completely forgot about. Yet, indeed, he must have turned twenty-seven at some point.

“There wasn’t much I could give you as a present, and I know your favourite desserts are Napoleon cake and strawberry pie.”

“How do you–”

“Your Q&A session in Helsinki seven years ago. Anyway, it’s not strawberry season so the choice was simple,” Yuuri quickly adds with a blush, not wanting to dwell on his fanboy encyclopedic knowledge.

Viktor is speechless. It was a short filmed interview following a small ice show in a skating club and even he can’t remember what questions he got that day. Who knows what other information Yuuri knows about him that he forgot he ever shared in the media?

“I thought I'd get everything I needed at the library. But, I don't know, it's like for a second I forgot I was in Russia and that I wouldn't find a baking book in the blink of an eye. Let alone one with a Napoleon recipe. Let alone one that could be translated.” He laughs. “You don't want to know the hell I went through.”

“So that’s what you’ve been doing today?”

“I tried… I used a Russian-English dictionary, but my sentences made no sense so I had to deduce for most parts, it’s a real mess. Also, the process is much longer than I expected, I didn’t know you were supposed to chill the cake overnight. But it was important for me to go with something you’d like for sure.” He wriggles, looking down. “I wanted it to be a surprise…”

Viktor can’t believe his ears. Yuuri kept his birthday in mind. He translated a recipe from scratch, from a language he doesn’t speak to one that isn’t even his mother tongue. He was ready to spend hours baking a cake that requires time and technique. All for him. And here he thought Yuuri didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

Yuuri misreads his lack of reaction and gets worried.

“Oh, I got it wrong, is that it? You don’t like it anymore? I should’ve thought about that, the interview was so long ago…”

“No, Yuuri…” 

“…I mean, tastes change over time, and I know it’s a very traditional dessert but just because you’re Russian doesn’t mean you have to like every single Russian specialty and--”

He stops rambling as Viktor puts his finger on his lips.

“Yuuri. I really love Napoleon cake. It's my entire childhood. It's just so sweet and thoughtful that I didn’t know what to say.”

He removes his finger, sensing Yuuri's relief through his awkward smile.

“I'm warning you, there’s great potential for disaster. I don’t even have a full recipe… ”

“We’ll use my grandma’s recipe to complement your notes. She took her secret ingredient to the grave but,” Viktor shrugs, “I always suspected she was only messing with me and that there never was any, so we should be fine.”

Yuuri laughs. “If it tastes the same as your grandma’s, you’ll get your answer. So, what do we do? We finish the solyanka together and make the cake after dinner? I want to help you too.”

“I’ve got an idea! How about we do both at the same time?” Undeterred by Yuuri’s skeptical pout, Viktor continues, “The cake is a rather long process with the dough and everything else, so at this rate we’ll still be there tomorrow. Don’t worry, the kitchen is big enough, we can coordinate. I promise the cake won’t end up smelling like fish.”

“That’s not the problem… we won’t be actually cooking together if we do this.”

“Of course we will! We’ll be in the same room and if one of us needs a hand, we’ll be there for each other.”

They put more thought and strategy into this than it deserves, but it feels fantastic to have no other preoccupation than bringing recipes to fruition. To do ordinary things together just for the sake of it.

“Okay.” Yuuri traces the shape of Viktor’s face with his finger. “Are you sure you don’t need to nap some more?”

Viktor shakes his head. The perspective of cooking with Yuuri fills him with so much energy that he could last till dawn. He hopes he will. He won’t waste one more minute of this magical night.

As he spots his reflection in the living room’s mirror on their way back to the kitchen, however, he understands why Yuuri might have doubts. He almost cracks up at the sight. It’s even worse than he thought: his hair makes no sense, his nose looks like a strawberry, his skin still bears the marks of his dry tears and his bleary eyes are ringed with dark circles. How Yuuri would want to kiss him is beyond him.

“Oh, so cute!!” Yuuri coos, putting on the apron he’s just picked up from the floor. The creases over the ‘Kiss the cook’ message highlight the ‘Kiss’ in an almost comical way. “I didn’t know you had this!”

“Hold on, let me…” Viktor ties it behind Yuuri’s back in a neat bow, ignoring his protests.

“No no, keep it, I was going to take it off--”

“Don’t, it’s perfect on you. There you go.”

He gently pushes Yuuri aside and begins to place all the glasses, plates and cutlery back where they belong. The kitchen might be big, but there’s no way they can work in the mess he’s made. In hindsight, he really went too far with this decoration business. It doesn’t matter what the table looks like. So few things matter as long as Yuuri is with him.

Behind him, Yuuri clears his throat. “Viktor?”

“Just give me a second…”

Once everything is back into place, he turns around and, to his surprise, finds himself literally face to face with Yuuri. He’s standing straight, arms beside his body, making indirect eye contact without saying or doing anything.

“Yes? You wanted to tell me something?”

Yuuri’s mouth twitches into a faint smile and he gently takes Viktor’s face in his hands. Caught off-guard, Viktor freezes the moment Yuuri’s lips are on his, but soon he relaxes. He rests his hands on Yuuri's hips, lightly pressing them in a subtle attempt to bring their bodies closer. Yuuri wraps his arms around Viktor’s neck to press their chests together and deepen the kiss. Viktor’s arms circle Yuuri’s waist, tightening their embrace. He’s too hot, his legs feel like jelly, but he doesn’t want it to end.

“I couldn't help feeling we left something unfinished,” Yuuri whispers against Viktor’s lips before stepping away and turning back. “So, um… shall we begin?”

Viktor nods, thoughts still hazy. It will be a miracle if his heart gets through the night.

***

Viktor is floating on cloud nine. Maybe even ten or eleven. He’s still not totally convinced it isn’t a fever dream.

The kitchen hasn’t been this lively in a while. Despite making too many random jokes and bumping into each other no less than three times, they work like a well-oiled machine, taking care of their own tasks while helping each other whenever they need it. Add the fish broth to the sautéed vegetables. Shape the dough into seven balls and refrigerate them for an hour. Simmer until the fish is cooked. Whisk the eggs, sugar and cornflour together. Mix the smetana into the soup. Heat the cream until it thickens.

As expected, the solyanka is ready long before the Napoleon, so Viktor sets it to low heat and walks over Yuuri’s counter to help him roll out the dough balls freshly taken out of the fridge. Thankfully, Viktor owns two rolling pins so they can work twice as fast – or they would if Viktor didn’t keep getting distracted by Yuuri’s fast and vigorous moves. He’s still in the process of rolling out his second dough ball when Yuuri tackles his fifth and therefore last one.

Eventually, all the elements are ready to be assembled. They place the cooked layers of pastry each in turn, making sure they’re well-aligned and that there is enough cream between them. Viktor insists that Yuuri be the one to give the final touch by covering the cake with the crumbled scraps as specified on the recipe. Viktor feels like he’s back at his grandma’s house again. It looks and smells the same as in his memories.

“It’s perfect.”

“It’s thanks to you,” Yuuri says, even though he did most of the work. “And your grandma. I don’t want to imagine what it would’ve ended up like without her recipe. Too bad we can’t eat it now.”

“Something to look forward to tomorrow,” Viktor replies with a smile, putting the cake in the fridge.

They’re both ravenous as they finally sit down, but Yuuri's delighted face when he begins to eat makes it worth the wait. The flour on their cheeks and the tiny stains on their clothes contrast with the elegance of the table in a rather charming way. The blue of the cloth is bathed in the candles’ dim orange light. Viktor doesn’t mind that it’s cheesy, he believes they deserve it. Besides, Yuuri is the one who insisted.

“Viktor, how do you usually celebrate your birthday?”

Good question. Viktor hasn't properly celebrated it since he reached teenagehood, whatever the definition of 'proper celebration' is. 

“Well… I don't do anything special. I relax at home with Makkachin, I order my favourite food. When I’m in the mood to see people, I go to the rink. I answer the birthday messages I get from fans and other skaters. Sometimes I receive gifts by mail over the following days…”

In short, only things that he can’t do this year.

“And what would be a 'special' thing to do?”

Yuuri puts a huge bit of potato into his mouth while staring at him, his kind eyes reflecting his desire to make up for everything by offering him a nice birthday. The thing is… Yuuri has done more than enough. Just staying by his side is a special moment.

“Spending the day with a beautiful man would be ideal.” Viktor smirks. “The kind of man who wears glasses, who cooks with you, who is a brilliant skater and who has the softest lips.”

Yuuri almost chokes on his potato and Viktor pats his hand over the table. Once he manages to swallow, he retorts, “You’re just describing yourself.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t wear glasses.” Viktor places his chin on his joined hands, gracing Yuuri with a fake innocent expression.

Unable to find a reply, Yuuri scoffs at himself and they resume eating lulled by the peaceful, very soft music playing in the background.

“I don’t want it to stop,” Yuuri abruptly says.

“What?”

“You said you were looking forward to tomorrow, but I… I don’t want this moment to end. I don’t want to be tomorrow and go back to dealing with our problems.”

“We don’t have to.”

“Of course we do, we can’t just ignore--”

“Let’s ignore them.”

Yuuri blinks. A confused smile appears on his lips, and vanishes when he realises Viktor is totally serious.

“I don't want it to end either, and it doesn’t have to. Let’s plan nice things for tomorrow. Eating cake, watching DVDs, taking the car to go to the beach, anything. Just a day with no pressure, yes?”

“I'd love to, but… isn’t it like avoiding problems?”

Viktor gives him a shrug.

“Maybe. But just because a new day comes doesn’t mean we have to discuss parallel world theories, ghosts, the future and whatnot if we’re not ready. Being happy will never be a waste of time. In fact, the nice moments we’re spending together are the best revenge against what’s happening to us.”

Yuuri stares at him in silence for a moment that feels like eternity, and when Viktor begins to wonder if maybe he’s been a bit too harsh, he nods several times with a little, strangled “Okay.” Viktor gets up from his chair and slowly walks closer to Yuuri before wrapping his arms around him from behind, holding him tight.

He rests his chin on the top of Yuuri’s head and closes his eyes as he listens to his breaths. Yuuri presses his fingers around Viktor’s forearm.

“It’ll be okay,” Viktor says, rubbing Yuuri’s shoulders in a soothing move. He plants his kiss into his soft, dark hair, letting his lips linger.

The smell of Yuuri’s shampoo feels so familiar now. No artificial perfume, only a fresh and clean scent, just as Yuuri likes them. The ridiculous doses allowed in planes that he brought with him to Sochi didn’t last more than a few days, and it took a while to find the closest shampoo to what he generally uses. Even in Detroit, he orders his shampoo bottles from Japan. He took this decision after several bad experiences with American products, which he told Viktor about as they were browsing the pharmacy’s beauty and care section in search of the Holy Grail of shampoos. Being quite knowledgeable about hair products, Viktor recommended Yuuri a few that he could try before picking his favourite. In the end, he stuck to his first choice, and rightfully so. His hair is beautiful. To think Viktor is now allowed to touch them…

He kisses Yuuri’s hair again. While he wants to believe in his own words, he knows very well that burying his head in the sand and ignoring reality is no solution, and that the time to burst the bubble will be even harder when it comes. Tonight, though, he doesn’t care. All he can think about is having Yuuri by him, with him, on him. Now that he’s had a taste of it and that it's better than anything he could have imagined, he can't get enough.

Still holding Yuuri, he straightens up to take a peek inside the pot. “There’s one potato half and three carrots left, want to share?”

They eat the solyanka till the last drop, then fill up the dishwasher and clean the room in the blink of an eye. While neither of them express it out loud, they’re both impatient to get it over with and resume where they stopped. Yet, once the place is spotless, they’re just standing still in front of each other, unsure of what to do next.

“Thank you again for the meal.” Yuuri eventually says. “It was delicious.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it.”

“It was fun cooking together again.”

“Yeah.”

Viktor leans against the counter, looking down.

“So… What would you like to do now?”

“Well, I’m a bit tired so I think I’m gonna go to bed soon,” Yuuri replies with an apologetic tone.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Viktor checks the time on the microwave, and is surprised that the green digital numbers display 1:10. Cooking can be very time-consuming, but he didn’t realise how late it was. Exhaustion is going to hit him soon, like the headache that he managed to forget while being busy but that is slowly coming back. As reasonable as it would be to get some sleep, he can’t help being disappointed. He doesn’t want to say good night so soon. He’s not ready for the magic to end. Who knows if it will be back tomorrow.

“Then I think I will too.” Viktor yawns on purpose just to show how fine he is with this decision.

“Wait.” Yuuri grabs his sleeve as he’s about to step away. “Is it okay if I sleep in your room?”

Viktor swears his heart just exploded. How can Yuuri throw a bomb like this with no warning? His fingers tensely clench the fabric, like he’s preparing himself to be turned down.

“You mean, with me?” Viktor stupidly says, still in shock.

Yuuri turns crimson. “I just thought it would be nice, but you don’t have to say…”

“Yes!” Viktor almost exclaims. “Yes, of course it’s okay,” he continues, lowering his voice. “No problem at all. I’m gonna take a shower, but make yourself at home in the meantime, okay?”

He heads towards the bathroom in a nonchalant way and, as soon as the door is locked, bounces up and down on his tiptoes, hiding his grinning, flushed face in his hands. Then he places them on his heart and takes a few calming breaths, giving a grateful look at the ceiling. He knows perfectly that nothing more will happen tonight, but the mere perspective of sleeping next to Yuuri for the first time since that night in the parking lot elates him.

He catches his face in the mirror and sobers up immediately. While he looks much less awful than earlier, it’s still urgent that he wash away the tear marks and overall exhaustion. No time for the complete beauty ritual, but he must at least look somewhat presentable. And be clean. And smell good.

He walks out of the room ten minutes later draped in only his bathrobe and almost bumps into Yuuri, who’s been waiting right behind the door with night clothes in his hands. They exchange a smile and begin to talk at the same time.

“Oh, hey. Sorry, I… wanted to shower too.”

“Oh, sure, go ahead, I'm done.”

“I’ll be quick.”

Viktor has been feeling more restless as minutes went by, and the surprise he finds in his room doesn’t help. A surprise in the form of a blue suitcase surrounded by bags at the foot of his bed.

He’s been through countless strange days, but tonight has been feeling more unreal than all of them combined.

He replays their conversation in his head. He didn’t realise that when Yuuri suggested they sleep in Viktor’s room, he actually meant ‘from now on’. Either he believed his intentions were obvious (and Viktor didn’t pick up on any of it, which would make sense since he hasn’t been the most perceptive lately), or he decided to bring his stuff on the spur of the moment (which, knowing Yuuri, sounds just as plausible).

In any case, there is only one thing that matters. After rejecting Viktor’s offer to take his room weeks ago, Yuuri is the one offering to sleep not only here, but also together.

Viktor still cannot comprehend how it’s possible to be so happy right after feeling so down in the dumps.

He unties his robe with shaky fingers and slowly lets it slide down his arms before slipping into his usual pyjama pants. As the lifeless city blinks its multiple colourful lights through the large windows of his room, he thinks. Would it be too weird to lie half-naked in a bed with Yuuri? On the other hand, Yuuri knows he doesn’t wear pyjama tops to sleep. If he puts on a shirt just for tonight, Yuuri might understand that it’s only for his sake and it will make things even more uncomfortable. Unless Viktor pretends it's just because he’s cold. Still… having Yuuri in his arms, right against his bare skin…

He looks at his bare torso and feels very aware of his flaws all of a sudden. The scar from his appendix removal, his belly button that always gave him a secret complex… He wonders if he lost his self-confidence somewhere in the snow or if he’s just pressuring himself because it’s Yuuri. It’s stupid. He said it himself, he doesn’t need to pretend. He showed himself at his most embarrassing self. He cried in Yuuri’s arms like a baby and his sweater remembers it. And Yuuri loves him anyway.

His throat tightens.

“Hey.”

With a quiet gasp, Viktor turns around. “Hi,” he replies as Yuuri closes the door. He’s wearing his usual night shirt and shorts.

“Is it fine if I leave my suitcase here? I can move it if you want…”

“No, it’s fine,” Viktor beams. “Make yourself at home.”

Yuuri glances around, as if he’s discovering the surroundings.

“I really like your room,” he says softly. “I often wondered what it looked like.”

“You’ve been here before.”

“I mean before knowing you. Before coming to Saint Petersburg. I had imagined something big, clean, tastefully decorated…”

Viktor crosses his arms. “Careful with how you finish your sentence.”

Yuuri laughs. But there’s something about him… something that’s been bothering Viktor since he came in.

“It’s all of these things. But it’s also very warm and comfortable and… I don’t know. Homey.” Yuuri looks him in the eyes for the first time since he entered. “Like you.”

Finally, Viktor can put his finger on it.

“Yuuri, have you been crying?”

Like someone caught red-handed, Yuuri’s face changes. He still tries to smile again.

“It’s fine. I’m okay. Just a moment of…”

He can’t finish his sentence before breaking into silent sobs.

“Forgive me…”

Viktor opens his arms and, since Yuuri doesn’t move, steps closer and hugs him tightly. Yuuri is so warm, and his shirt so thin that he almost feels like he’s embracing his bare body. Yuuri presses his fingers against the skin of Viktor’s back as he cries on his shoulder without a sound.

“It’s okay, don’t apologise. It’s been a long night and our emotions are all over the place. We’ll feel better after some sleep.”

“No… Forgive me for everything I did.”

“What?” Viktor lets go so he can frame Yuuri’s face in his hands. “Yuuri, it’s all fine. We cleared everything up. I’m not upset with you. I never was!”

“I expressed regrets,” Yuuri replies, “but I didn’t apologise properly.” He briefly wipes his eyes. “While I was in the shower, I thought about everything you said, all those beautiful things about me and the future. You often say you’re not good at comforting people, but did you hear yourself?”

“Ah… To be honest, I rehearsed a bit.”

“I can’t help thinking that if I had done things differently the night after the library, if I had been less of a coward…”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m sure you would’ve found the right thing to say. I really feel like all this pain was for nothing.”

Viktor strokes his cheeks. “I don’t want you to blame yourself. We’re together now. There’s no need to think about what we should have done or what could have been.”

Yuuri sighs. “I know that. Still… I had never seen you cry before tonight. Well, not like that. And to think that it’s because of me… It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. I just want to say I’m so, so sorry.”

Viktor shakes his head with a tender smile. “You don’t have to apologise. I’m not saying everything’s fine just to make you feel better. I mean it. And it wasn’t because of you. Believe me, it was meant to happen sooner or later. It’s been so long… so, so long since I allowed myself to cry like that. All in all, I suppose it was a good thing.”

Yuuri stares at him for a few seconds, eyes and nose red, then smiles back at him with the same tenderness. Viktor kisses his forehead and takes both of his hands.

“Okay, time for bed now!” he sing-songs, dragging Yuuri towards it.

In some kind of tacit habit, Viktor picks the left side and Yuuri the right one, like they slept that night in the car. Except that now they have a mattress to sink into, warm covers to curl up in and no gear lever, no hand brake, nothing in the way to hold each other close.

Viktor turns off the lights and lies on his side. He can only vaguely distinguish Yuuri’s shape, but he senses Yuuri’s fixed gaze on him. His warm, beautiful brown eyes. He’s such a gorgeous man. He wishes he could see him properly right now. However, looking for each other’s hands and exchanging hushed words in the dark has a certain charm.

“I feel like it’s been ages since we first slept together.”

Viktor bites his lip. Damn English for making the sentence so equivocal. Luckily for him, Yuuri doesn’t pick up on it.

“Yeah, it was so cold and that parking lot was so creepy,” he laughs. “Though it was mostly because I was so certain that there was someone spying on us.”

Viktor doesn’t want to remind him that the first night they spent together was in Sochi, first because Yuuri forgot about it and that there’s no point in twisting the knife, but mostly because that night in the car was, indeed, the one that truly mattered.

“But it was so important to me,” Yuuri continues, “because that’s when you held my hand for the first time, and you told me all these perfect things I never thought I’d get to hear from you. I’ll never forget it.”

Yuuri brings Viktor’s hand to his lips and proceeds to kiss his knuckles one by one. Viktor moves closer and lays his other hand on Yuuri’s belly, touching the lines of his muscles through his shirt. The temptation to slide his fingers underneath is so strong.

“Viktor… How did you know… how did you realise you wanted to…”

“To kiss you?” he chuckles. “It’s difficult to pinpoint. I’ve been wanting to for as long as I can remember.”

“Oh. So… When was the moment that made you think, ‘this is it, I’m gonna do it’?”

Viktor feels so warm inside. Yuuri has no idea what he just asked for.

“Our dance,” he replies, moving his hand to Yuuri’s back and bringing him closer. “The most incredible and intense dance I’ve ever had, and I have dozens and dozens of figure skating programs under my belt.” His voice turns into a whisper. “I had never felt so exhausted and so alive at once. It kept me awake in my bed for a long time. I never stopped thinking about it. I can’t wait to do it again. Slowly, for hours, like we promised.”

His face is combusting. His whole body is, in fact. Would he have been brave enough to say all this in broad daylight?

“I always think about it too.”

The words are only whispered, yet they sound as loud as a scream in a cathedral.

“I want to dance with you again. Not now, but… eventually.” Yuuri’s lips find his, which briefly surprises Viktor before he responds to the kiss with enthusiastic gentleness. “We’ll find the right moment.”

Their hands intertwine again, tighter and tighter. Then, with delicious slowness, Yuuri rolls their bodies together so that Viktor is lying beneath him and their joined hands are pressed against the mattress. Yuuri drops kisses all over his face, his accent coming back as he murmurs his name.

Where their hands will fall, which area their lips will brush… The slightest touch, the smallest reaction becomes a surprise in the dark. Yuuri’s hand is running through Viktor’s hair, and the next second it is on his nipple. Viktor lets out a small gasp as he feels Yuuri’s thumb on his most sensitive spot. Yuuri keeps fondling it, clearly revelling in the effect it has on Viktor, as Viktor slides his hand under Yuuri’s shirt just over his stomach, which earns him the sweetest sigh. They’re so tired they could fall asleep any second now, but they don’t want to stop.

Yuuri really does embody the perfect balance between strong and soft, gentle and fierce. Despite the vivid images that form in his mind, Viktor tries not to let it wander too much, because quite frankly, he could pass out at the mere thought of Yuuri making love to him. He’s experiencing such a rush of new, deep emotions just by holding and kissing him, that he wants to take his time to savour them all.

“Viktor,” Yuuri whispers as he breaks the kiss, “don’t think I want to stop because I really, really don’t want to, but my eyes are closing on their own.”

Viktor laughs. “Hopefully one day we’ll get to kiss without falling asleep.” He lets out a content sigh. “Don’t worry. We’ll have time tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, they’ll continue to discover more about each other’s bodies with love and patience. And more the day after that. Time is on their side, and they will use it to create something beautiful in this cold world.

“Viktor?” Yuuri says when Viktor thought he was asleep already.

“Yes?”

“Happy birthday, Viktor.”


End file.
